


Drift

by AugustPendragon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action & Romance, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Murder, Bathing/Washing, Betrayal, Blackmail, Cooking, Doctors & Physicians, Explicit Consent, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Fantastic Racism, Fear of Discovery, Feeding, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Genocide, Grinding, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Humor, Kidnapping, Language Barrier, M/M, Magic, Medical Examination, Mind Control, Multi, Nightmares, Novel, Original Character(s), Original Universe, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Piano, Promiscuity, Prophecy, Prophetic Visions, Prophets, Prostitution, Protectiveness, Role Reversal, Scars, Slavery, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Switching, Teasing, Trust, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustPendragon/pseuds/AugustPendragon
Summary: In the absence of an internal force, objects tend to drift.Claude Blanche was good at drifting. Wherever the currents of a tumultuous family or an uptight society or his own lustful urges swept him, he went without a fuss. It never mattered that the people he touched while drifting he inevitably drifted away from.Of course, should some real desire truly awake in him--prompted by, say, a chance encounter with a most wondrous member of the race his nation was sworn to destroy--it was going to ruin all his drifting straight to hell.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

DRIFTERS DESTROYED!  
Last Red-Eyes on the Run; Victory At Hand!

Claude feigned a stifled yawn to mask his grimace, striding past the newspapers and their hawkers without further perusal. A waste of a beautiful race. He’d fucked and been fucked by Drifters before, and had a very good time of it, the men exquisite and exotic with their crimson eyes and tanned toned forms. To think he never would again. Couldn’t they just have killed the supposed witches in the lot and spared the rest?  
No good lamenting politics. At least it had been good for business; patriotism and excessive spending went hand and hand.  
As his mind ran through the day’s numbers his eyes drifted to something by the wayside. A little huddled grubby form nested in among trash.  
Years of business had taught Claude well to identify a diamond beneath layers of filth. The boy balled up there was gracile and silky-haired, even if he was dirty and probably twenty pounds too light.  
Claude eased forward and made the practiced smile of a socialite.  
“Hello—“  
The head shot up, the eyes fixed on him. Red eyes.  
Then the youth was bolting down the alley.

For a moment he was frozen in place, gaping and staring—but then a moment later he was running after him, heels clacking on the cobble streets.  
"W-wait! Wait hold up a second—I just want to help you, I promise!" He cried out, gagging as he avoided heaps of trash and maneuvered through the snaking alleys. He thought he'd lost him, but then. Ah, a dead end. The poor thing was trying uselessly to hop over the wall, but he was both too weak and too small to do it, and none of the trash piled against it was sturdy enough to serve as a leapfoot.  
"Hey there—don't do that, please, you could get hurt. Listen, I'm not like the others, I don't want to hurt you—I would have called the guards if I did. I just want to help… here."  
The last word was said as he rummaged around his pockets and produced a biscuit. Left over from his lunch and a little bit squished. But beggars can't be choosers, so it should be alright, right?  
He offered another prepackaged smile and offered the treat in an open, gloved hand.

The boy’s eyes fixated on the biscuit with as much ABJECT HORROR as if Claude had just proffered a severed head. His hands, meanwhile, continued pawing pitifully at the wall. It made Claude think of the rats when they were rounded up for—  
Oh!  
The poor little dear had abruptly dribbled down into a heap. Now he looked like a DEAD rat. Was he—No! Thank heavens, he was still clearly breathing. Now Claude recalled a possum he’d seen along the road. This wild, fragile thing certainly brought to mind a great deal of animals—perhaps Drifters really did have a bit of beast in them!  
Slowly, carefully, Claude crawled forward, crouching by his side and peering down at him. "Are you alright? Are you sure you don't want the biscuit? It's pumpkin flavored, very in this season." No answer but soft shudders, and Claude pushed the small dessert into his pocket.  
"Listen, my name is Claude, and yours?" No answer. He stared for a moment, then poked the little shivering bundle, it squeaked and trembled all the more. How adorable.  
"Listen so, I'm just a humble merchant who lives nearby, I'm going to pick you up and take you there alright?"  
The only answer was a more fervent trembling. Ah, what a precious little thing! A bit smelly, at present, but a good bath would clean that up and fix more besides. Claude’s fingers paused right before inky hair. How nice it would look, shiny and clean! It was cut quite long, or maybe it had overgrown, in his wild roaming?  
Cute.  
Far from concerns about how a red-eye had found itself here or what taking one home might lead to, Claude’s brain whirred over more urgent matters. How should he style his hair? Oh, what would he dress him in? What scents?  
His arms clasped around the boy—firm enough to prevent escape, careful enough not to break—and lifted. The boy was as light as he—  
A rapid lunge on the Drifter’s part, Claude nearly dropping him in surprise. Not to squirm free, however. The little one’s hand had thrust into his pocket, yanking free the biscuit and choking it down in a mere two gulps.  
Awww, poor thing! He HAD been hungry after all.  
"Aw you liked that? I have tons more at home! Just wait—" Claude thought of it better, setting the little red-eyed runaway down and taking his coat off, bundling him up in it and picking him back up.  
Not only did it hide the smell better, but also shielded him from curious eyes that might call the authorities on him.

The boy didn't fight again as he was picked up and carried away, curled up righter as they made it to the streets and he was walked, vulnerable and so close to being exposed. But no one bothered, and soon enough they had stopped before the looming shadow of a large house. He was balanced around in one arm as Claude opened and closed doors until they were inside. Then he settled his refugee down, trying to put him on hi feet, but he simply crumpled onto the floor. Claude sighed and gave up, letting him. He busied himself instead finding glassess and plates, putting something together very quickly. A glass of milk, some bread and cheese and ham and some fruit.  
"Here you go, just like I promised, more food!"  
The little one’s shaking was ceaseless. Was he cold? Maybe just scared? Poor little thing, hunted down at every turn just because his eyes were a prettier color than everyone else’s.  
Or... maybe he was sick? Oh. What diseases did red-eyes carry, especially dirty little half-feral ones?  
Claude’s unease was quickly replaced by endless optimism. Nope, certainly just nervous, and he’d charm those fears away soon enough!  
As he mused the drifter had uncurled just enough to eye the food. A hand reached out, tentative, drawing a pear close and curling around it. His gnawing was still rapid with hunger, but more controlled than before, and when he’d finished he opened up all the further and ate the rest with something like delicacy.  
And then promptly became a little armadillo again, curled up tightly on the floor. Ahh.  
"There we go! That wasn't so bad, was it? Now, off to get you clean!" He said as he picked the skinny little ball up again, thanking that he was wearing gloves as he walked with it, arms extended forward and towards the bathroom—not his own, though, but rather one in one of the guest rooms. The visitor was placed upon the tub's white porcelain carefully before Claude spoke again.  
"So warm water to the right, here are some towels, there's the soap, and I'll find you some spare pajamas…. do you think you can manage yourself or would you like some help?" He asked, not quite managing to hide the eagerness at his last question.  
The boy’s head turned slowly from him to the taps. Had he ever seen a bath before?  
Ah; apparently he had! There was a sudden energy to those crimson eyes that even the food hadn’t elicited. He grabbed at the edges of his filthy shirt—and went rigid, head swiveling around to look at him again. Claude had unconsciously leaned forward, quivering eagerly.  
“Sooo is that a yes?”  
Still just the staring. Claude reached forward—  
The boy barked like he’d been stabbed, flinging himself to the far side of the tub, eyes dilated and chest heaving.  
Claude took a step back, lifting his hands in a placating manner.  
"Alright, alright, no helping, sorry." He backtracked slowly, until he'd stepped out of the room. The little thing was still breathing rapidly and staring at him with fear in his eyes.  
"Well… I'll go fetch you some clothes. I'll be right outside, if you need anything," he added, although at this point he was beginning to wonder if his guest could even understand him at all. A soft wave, and then the door was slowly closed, separating the two of them and giving the red-eyed boy some privacy.  
A minute ticked past. Perhaps the little darling hadn’t understood how baths worked after all? Ugh, he didn’t want to frighten, but—  
The sudden clamor of running water. Clever boy. Satisfied, Claude departed for clothes.

He was back swiftly, both out of concern for his guest’s needs and out of concern his guest might feel the need to make a break for it. The streets were no place for such a cute little red-eye! Thank goodness he’d found him!  
And thank goodness for his own sake, too. He could hear a good deal more splashing then a straightforward bath entailed and the occasional rasped burble of delight. How cute he must look, frolicking in there!  
Eventually the noises stopped. Claude waited a while further before knocking, announcing his intentions in drawn out syllables and slipping the clothes through the door. Shuffling sounds, quiet again. He waited a while further before knocking again and entering.  
His little garbage-gremlin had turned into a prince! Soft black hair that flowed like ink, skin that was still smooth despite all he’d suffered, a lovingly crafted face. No lovely red eyes at present, however; dressed in his new pajamas the boy had opted to roll himself in the towels instead of come out, chest rising and falling softly in sleep.  
Awww, he cooed-quietly. Best not to wake the poor dear. He stepped forward very carefully and picked him up. His rescued new kitten shivered softly in his arms but did not wake, and so Claude moved to take him to bed. At first, he'd been planning to take him to his bed, then remembered how frightened he'd been in the bathroom, reconsidered, and settled him down on the guest room instead. Towels were tugged away and replaced by blankets. Claude stared and squealed at him more than was necessary before finally leaving the bedroom to go to his own. He paused at the door, hesitating, then decided to close and lock it from the outside. Sure, he was very cute but also a stranger. It was for his own safety that he decided not to let a beggar from the street roam his house freely while he slept.  
He tidied up the place a little before going to his room, discarding the rags the boy had worn, setting aside his newly stinky coat and taking a shower himself before going to bed, dreaming of things to come.

The next morning came, and his guest had—thankfully, not awakened yet to find himself locked up. He opened the door and called out, the scent of fresh pancakes slipping in.  
"Wakey wakey little kitten, I have your breakfast ready to go!"  
No answer. A peek inside the room revealed the boy still roundly asleep, ensconced in the comforter.  
Oh, little darling! How long had it been since he’d enjoyed such a fine bed? Had he ever? Still, food would do him more good right now then even more sleep—and Claude was impatient, besides.  
He leaned in, voice sing-song.  
“Wakey wake—“  
The boy shot straight into the air like a cannonballed cat, landing heavily back on the bedding before whipping off of it on to the floor. A bit over dramatic, Claude felt, but at least the boy was standing a bit less wobbly now.  
And stand was all he did, nervous by the side of the bed, edging away from it. But his eyes were locked on the food, tongue absently tracing lips.  
Claude stared, blinked, then waved the plate in front of the boy.  
"So… breakfast is this way," he declared, finally disappearing and taking the food with him, walking back towards the kitchen while he left the door open.  
The distressed gurgling behind him almost compelled Claude to turn back. Almost! This was for kitten’s own good; he had to see that this was a nice place, run by a nice man, who would make a nice lover. This was just step one of a grand and magnificent plan.  
One the boy didn’t seem fond of, clearly. He groaned and groaned but then the door creaked open. Play it casual, Claude told himself, not turning around even as he heard the scuttering of feet.  
The red eye moved much like an animal; lunging from hiding spot to hiding spot, always squeezed between a potted plant or a chair or a vase or anything else he could find on his way to the kitchen. The last ten feet or so of the corridor was bare, and Claude thought he might not make it, but then with a wheeze the boy hurtled forward and skittered in across the tiles. He cocked his head to keep an eye on Claude—never meeting his gaze—and took up a wary stance several feet off.  
Still smiling, Claude placed the plate upon a counter, then patted the wooden stool placed in front of it meaningfully, and went to sit on his own across from it, a second food plate waiting for him.  
"I do hope it's to your liking, there's some fruit and fresh cream over there, and oh don't forget the honey" he added, pouring said honey generously over his own breakfast, the thick liquid glittering golden in the morning sunlight. Claude pretended not to pay attention as he did this, hoping it would encourage the red eye to come closer.  
Far from it; ugh! The boy skirted around him entirely—  
Claude’s frustration became delight as he realized why. The little one wasn’t avoiding him—well, maybe he was, but there was more to it. He was, rather, focused quite intently on the fruit. He gathered up about as many strawberries as he could hold and a few slices of banana as well, looking most content, sniffing at them. It seemed the boy had favorites! He was less sure of Claude then his choices, however, and a half a minute of nervous shuffling passed before he settled on the stool and started eating.  
Claude held down a squeal by shoving a mouthful of flour into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he gathered himself enough to speak.  
"So… do you speak English?"  
The red eye paused midway through shoveling another strawberry in his mouth. Claude repeated the question, slower. A delay, the boy grinding his teeth softly into red fruit.  
When the last piece had been swallowed down the boy opened his mouth, coughed, tried again. The voice that emerged was soft but coarse as if from lack of use.  
“I no speak English.”  
Claude sighed dreamily. Such tragic news, delivered in such an adorable manner.  
"Aww you poor thing, you must be so confused, but don't worry, you're alright now, and we'll have plenty of time to teach you proper language," He mused, racistly. His guest didn't seem to understand, stared at him briefly before going back to eating. When he was done, he looked around for more. Claude took the chance to try another exchange between the two of them.  
"Don't worry kitten, there's more where that came from. But as much as I enjoy calling you kitten, I would much more enjoy to know your name. Mine is Claude," he said, gesturing at himself, speaking slowly, then turned to gesture towards the boy.  
"And your name is?"  
Still the staring! If the boy wasn’t so darling with his pretty face and eyes Claude would have felt weirded out. As it was, he imagined instead. The rubies in his head aflame in the night, slim body arched, gasping in—  
Ah, whoops. Claude cut his thoughts short before they made themselves hard to hide. He started the gesture again.  
“My name—“  
“Drifter.” The boy said, monotone. He stood and moved once more to the fruit, and this time began picking at it where he stood, not returning to the stool.  
He made a face. Oh, he'd had plans for him, but couldn't exactly call him a Drifter in front of everyone, now could he? That would only see the poor Drifter killed and himself thrown into jail.  
"Hmm, seems like I'll be calling you Kitten a while longer, yes?" He said standing up and walking towards him, gesturing again.  
"Claude, Kitten." He said, putting a hand to his chest, and then placing it over the boy's head, smiling.  
The boy chose to look fixedly at the fruit instead of him. Such a shy kitten. Claude actually bothered to pause, thinking about the ramifications, but then proceeded all the same. The only way Kitten would learn it was nice to be petted was if he started, after all—  
“Kio,” the boy mumbled, or something like it. He hunched over and started trembling worse and Claude apologetically withdrew his hand.  
“Ah, sorry, Kitten, I didn’t mean to—“  
“Kio? Kio nek a mala? Kio—“  
Kitten’s voice was shaking worse than his body, the boy’s nails scraping on the counter. Claude hadn’t expected THIS much of a bad reaction, but he’d been quite jumpy at the bath too, hadn’t he? Poor thing.  
“I’m sorry, Kitten, it’s alright! Why don’t you have some more food?”  
The boy’s only answer was more fevered mumbling as he slid down against the cabinet. But then suddenly he pushed himself up, straightening, turned to face him.  
Claude didn’t get out another word before the boy’s lips pressed to his own. Alarm and concern kept him from returning the gesture. When the boy pulled back his eyes were dead.  
“Fuck the drifter.”  
Claude stared, silent, shocked. A moment later, slowly, carefully, he drew his little Kitten close. The boy went unresisting into his hold and he kissed him. Placed his lips gently upon his forehead.  
"No."  
He gathered him up in his arms, still he didn't fight. He had a pretty good idea of how the drifter had ended stranded in the middle of the city now. In his hold, he only trembled, but did not fight. It would have been quite easy to carry him to his bedroom and take him there. The thought filled him with displeasure and his frown deepened. Instead of his bedroom, he paused by a closet, settling the boy carefully down before he began rummaging through it. Shoes, trousers, pants, shirts, jacket—Aha! there, what he had been looking for. He passed the folded clothes onto the drifter's hands, and then on top of them, neatly placed, a pair of goggles. Beautifully crafted with rivulets of gold, and crystals of reflecting green, mirroring the world before them instead of showing what laid beyond. He smiled, genuinely instead of practiced.  
"Put these on, kitten, it's boring in here, wouldn't you rather go out?"  
The boy looked at him, and the gift, and at him, and at the gift.  
“Kio?”  
Followed by, stuttered,  
“Why?”  
His arms folded tightly around the bundle as his shoulders hunched, a child clutching at something solid. Anything solid.  
“Why? Why—“  
The emeralds reflected themselves as the tears pooled on them, but when Kitten raised his head, his eyes were filled with rage. And grief.  
And despair.  
“Fuck the drifter!”  
He shoved the offering back into Claude’s arms, the man squeaking and barely keeping it from falling. The boy’s teeth were bared, his body quaking like a tempest, hands clutching at Claude’s shirt and ineffectually trying to shake him.  
“Fuck the drifter! FUCK the drifter!”  
A rising scream, red eyes filled with fury and fear, and all Claude could think was that his shaking would make him break.  
Clothes and googles shoved hastily away before Claude gathered him close, arms wrapped around him, firmly but gently, muffling his voice against his chest, tears wetting his vest as he held him from shaking. He held him, quietly for minutes, until finally he had either given up or simply grown tired. Only then did he let him go, slowly, tentatively, gathering his hands in his instead. He knelt before him, looking up at him.  
"No, kitten. That's not what I want. I want to love you, do you understand?" He kissed his hands, softly.  
"Love."  
“Love.” Only an echo. Even if the boy understood, he did not believe. The emotion that had strove to rip him asunder had faded out. Now the boy just looked tired.  
No outing today, Claude decided, sighing. When further attempts to coax the boy to stand or speak or show any sign of life failed he picked him up once more, returning with him to the guest bedroom. There the little red eye lay quite still, and no amount of cajoling or pleading or proffered strawberry bribes prompted him to move.  
Well... tomorrow was another day. Claude left him with food and water and locked the door again, ruminating in his own bedroom before falling into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning came with bird song and sunlight. A good sign! His first thought had been to make further pancakes, but worry for how the boy had fared overnight superseded, and soon he was before his door again. A knock; no answer. He unlocked and cracked the door to the drifter still in bed, eyes closed, breath not quite steady enough to convincingly feign sleep.  
He waited by the door for a moment before retreating, leaving it open as he stepped away. His footsteps echoed back into the room as he made his way to the kitchen. Then silence, followed by other sounds, and soon enough smells, as the scent of breakfast reached him. His kitten had only had one meal the day before, he must be hungry again today.  
And nothing. Claude wasn’t daunted. The smell of bacon had a way of working wonders. He sloshed it around the pan and fanned the fumes down the corridor.

It took longer than he’d expected, but his kitten did appear eventually, shuffling over to the stool without looking at him. A few tentative sniffs at today’s proffered eggs and bacon and he was at it, gobbling down mouthfuls between gulps of milk.

Claude watched as he ate his own, making sure he’d eaten at least half his breakfast before he spoke.   
“So... how’s about that field trip?” He asked, pulling out the bundle of clothes and the goggles he’d previously offered, pushing them tentatively over the counter and towards him.  
To his utmost relief the boy didn’t respond with tears or a forceful shove of the pile to the floor. Instead he reached forward, tracing fingers slowly over the brilliant gilding.  
“Why?”  
Still so weary. An old voice in a young throat.  
“Drifter...” thinking, searching for the word, “outside, die. Drifter inside, no die.”  
“But the goggles—“ Claude started, with a gesture. The boy cut him short with a motion of his head and reached forward, stretching his arm beside Claude’s and gesturing himself. The difference in tone was obvious, even if the boy was paler than most drifters Claude had known. Copper against cream. Another gesture to his hair, and then the goggles. Black hair was far from uncommon, and there were tan enough people around, and goggles were in style, but all together, in the current atmosphere, it would probably raise...  
“Questions,” Kitten said, quietly, pulling his arms back against his chest and returning to his food. Far from looking dismayed at thinking the outing was impossible, he looked disinterested as ever.  
Claude deflated visibly, sighing as he absentmindedly chewed on a piece of egg. Well, there went his plans for the day. And worst of all—how could he charm the little drifter now? There was only so much time they could spend eating after all!  
A thought occurred to him all of a sudden, and he abandoned his plate and the kitchen all together, coming back several minutes later, thankful to find the drifter still in his kitchen. He sat across from him and slid a small but thick book across the counter and towards him.  
“Hey, is this—is that what you’re speaking? Your language?”  
The boy turned towards him, and initial disinterest became delight.  
“Eya! Yes.”  
He flicked open the pages, scanning. Not a novel, but a dictionary, translating his tongue to Claude’s. He looked almost approving.  
“English,” he said, waving a hand at Claude before thumping the book.  
“Solas.”  
His fingers lingered on the text, and then like the sudden snuffing of a fire he was gone again, eyes unfocused and absent.  
Claude grew worried at the boy's sudden disinterest, but there was no time to dwell on that, because for the first time he had a way to finally decipher how to help. He slid the book away from him and towards himself, scanning the pages until he found what he'd been looking for.  
"Ae… Aenne? Aenne!" He looked up, beaming, looking for understanding in the drifter's eyes. He gestured at himself.  
"Aenne, Claude." Then at the drifter.  
"Aenne?"  
The red eyes were barely open, now, not in irritation but in apathy.  
“Name, Kitten.”  
The eyes closed fully.  
Claude deflated again, but did not give up. Again scanning the pages of the book until he found the quickest route to what he was looking for.  
"'Why... sad?'"  
This time Kitten didn’t answer. He seemed to be falling ever further into an abyss, and Claude feared it would soon be too late to save him.  
He turned back to the book, flipping rapidly for some other topic of conversation, trying to surreptitiously tear out his earmarks for naughty words as he did.   
He looked up to a crash and Kitten convulsing on the floor.

"Kitten—Kitten!" He snapped, dropping his book and going for the drifter, gathering him up in his arms and shaking him. No response, the red-eyed boy still convulsing. Oh What the heck?! How—why? Was he allergic to bacon? No way, was that even a thing?! He shot to his feet and ran to the door—and came to a halt, eyes wide. If he took him to the doctor, they would kill him, and put his ass in jail for treason. He look down. So then what? Was there nothing he could do but wait and hope he didn't die.  
Ah, but wait! His eyes widened as an idea struck him, and a moment later, charge still in arms, he ran in the opposite direction. He juggled the drifter as best as he could onto one arm as he maneuvered the telephone with another, spinning the dials into the right combination and then pressing it to his ear, waiting anxiously as it rang.  
"H-hello? Raphael? Hi! Listen, just asking for a friend—what should you do if you feed someone eggs and bacon and they drop convulsing to the floor?!"  
“What?!” Shock that turned to response, the voice babbling orders through the phone.  
“Put a pillow under his head so he doesn’t hurt himself—wrap him in some blankets—a doctor will have to bring medicine immediately. Is this YOU, Claude? What oil did you cook the bacon in? If this is just another call to get me to look at your penis—“  
Kitten coughed, eyes that had been roughly dilated returning to normal focus, his seizing coming to a halt. Claude looked down at him as Raphael continued shrieking mixed medical advice and scoldings. The boy took a few shuddering breaths, gaze focusing on the phone.  
“Vos. Vos—no—“ he tried to swat the phone away.  
“N-Never mind Raphy, he’s all better!”  
“Wait—“  
Claude hung up, looking down at his small charge. Kitten’s breathing was still strained, but it was becoming smoother. The boy closed his eyes and after a few focused moments managed more words.  
“Ok. Ok. Old sick... born, sick.”  
“Kitten!” He cried, squeezing the drifter close, then letting go as he apologized.   
“Oh my poor precious kitten, sorry! I’m so glad you’re okay—oh but, a doctor should really look at that. They probably don’t have doctors where you come from, do they?” A question that wasn’t really looking for an answer. Claude was very sure he was right, after all. But how to make Raphael look at his Kitten’s health without letting him in on the secret?  
He didn’t know the man’s political views, their conversations often touching other topics—and if they had ever gone political, he had pretty much zoned out on them. He stroked the drifter’s hair out of his face.  
“Kitten... is there anything I can do to help?”  
“Ok,” the boy repeated, softly. His eyes opened, and he looked at him.

Really looked at him. 

Claude hadn’t been shy for a decade and yet he felt almost shy now as the boy examined him. What did that sudden keen interest mean? What judgments was he passing in his head.  
The boy closed his eyes and turned his face, pressing into the crook of his arm.  
“Ok.”  
And then, shy himself,  
“Aennae... Ezekiel.”  
“A... annae? Ah!” He brightened up as he remembered the meaning of the word.   
“Oh kitten, what a beautiful name! He exclaimed, spinning the boy around and beaming. In answer he squeaked and blushed, and Claude felt like spinning him some more, but considering Ezekiel’s frail health, decided against it. His happiness did not last long, however, and he was soon frowning.  
“Ah, but really, how to get you to a doctor...” Obviously, the drifter did not understand, and so Claude walked him back to the kitchen, settling gently down on a stool and going back for the dictionary.  
“Let’s see...’you need... doctor. Friend is doctor. We see him. You disguise.’”  
“No—“  
Initial sharp refusal, ended abruptly. Ezekiel looked up at him a moment before turning to the book, brow furrowed.  
“Sickness old. Doctor no help. Ok.”  
Claude made an upset noise. "Of course your doctors would be no help but this one is DIFFERENT—" He began, forgetting for a second that Ezekiel could not understand English before turning to the book and trying the closest crude approximation of what he wanted to say in his language.  
"'Please, Ezekiel, trust?'"  
“No.”  
Claude was obviously wounded. Ezekiel shook his head.  
“Trust, yes? Yes. Doctor...”  
He let out a rising hiss of irritation and pulled the book towards himself, skimming.  
“Doctor no... heal sick... because sick... because...”  
His hands slowed and then stopped. Claude could tell he was in the M section of his language. The boy looked down, and then at him, and then down again.  
And then closed the book abruptly.  
Claude frowned.  
"Because what? Because…maladies, medicine? mutilation? What?" The drifter didn't answer, looked tensely away. He sighed.  
"Fine… breakfast, okay?" he said, pointing back towards the kitchen and hoping very much his afflictions really hadn't been caused by bacon. Ezekiel smiled and nodded, going back to the food. Claude watched him go before going back to the phone.  
"Hi Raphy! So… how much are you charging for a home visit? No it wasn't about that but if you want to see it THAT badly~ No no no don't hang up!! Seriously, when can you come over?"

Claude joined his small charge again soon enough, as much to finish his food as to make sure Ezekiel’s didn’t KILL HIM. Thankfully it seemed that whatever afflicted the boy really wasn’t triggered by bacon, Ezekiel finishing without further issue and looking around for more. Claude was happy to oblige in the form of strawberries, the boy babbling in delight and accepting them from his hands. After a moment’s hesitation, Claude tried placing one directly to the drifter’s lips, and despite a surprised blink Ezekiel ate it.  
Claude was still giggling dreamily when someone knocked at the door. Ezekiel went sharp.   
“Is that you, Raphael?” Claude called nervously, standing.  
“Yes, can I come in?”  
“Trust! TRUST!” Ezekiel hissed, quietly, baring his teeth at Claude as he began to scramble backwards towards the far door.  
Oh it broke his heart to do this to the little thing but it was for his own good.  
He walked after him, slowly and carefully, not looking to touch him while he was in that state.  
"Yes, trust! Trust me, it will be alright Ezekiel." He offered his hand, waiting for the drifter to take it.  
"Trust?"  
Rapid breathing. Flight or fight. The boy was again a cornered animal, weak and afraid.  
But then he looked at Claude’s hand. A few more trembled breaths and he stepped forward, fingers settling on the very ends of Claude’s.  
“Trust.”  
The door creaked open and Ezekiel jumped despite his words. A man thrust his head in, white haired but young, wearing glasses.  
“—Oh, my!”  
The rest of him tumbled in, a handsome man of about thirty dressed in doctor’s garb, eyes fixed on Ezekiel as he strode forward. The boy pressed himself against Claude’s back and trembled. The blonde was thoughtful enough to conceal a squeal.  
“Oh, Claude, he’s marvelous! When did you...? Oh my, was he the one convulsing? Epilepsy, perhaps? Drifters seem to come in two forms, robust and gracile, and the gracile ones DO seem rather prone to illness—come, let’s have a look at him—“  
Ezekiel moaned in outright fear and attempted to insert himself under the back of Claude’s shirt.  
"Wait, wait, stop, you're scaring him Raphy!" He said extending a hand forward to halt the man at the same time that he threw one behind himself to give Ezekiel some comforting pats.  
"It's okay, kitten. Doctor is good, doctor is friend, ok?"  
“Kitten! What a marvelous name! Mine’s more of a wildcat, himself.”  
“No, that’s not—“  
Claude stopped halfway through, realizing. Raphael grinned.  
“Yes, I got one just a few days ago! I was going to tell you once I’d made sure he wasn’t carrying anything. We’ll have to introduce the two of them once we’re sure they’re not infectious.”  
The doctor looked at Ezekiel again, or as much of him as he could see. Claude could feel the boy’s lungs fluttering.  
“Mine is also gracile, but blonde instead of black—quite a rare morph. But yours is exquisite as well! Where did you get him?”  
“U-uuuh second hand.” The doctor quirked an eyebrow up.  
“Really? Surely you could have afforded a fresh one. Less chances of serious illness then.”  
“Let’s just say I was in a charitable mood, aha,” he said, laughing nervously before he turned around and picked Ezekiel up, deciding that the faster they got over it the faster Raphael would leave and the faster his precious Ezekiel would calm down. Like a frightened animal, the drifter clung to him, shivering and hiding his face against his neck. Claude was barely able to hide his impulse to squeal. He took the drifter to the couch and sat, keeping Ezekiel on his lap.  
“His... previous masters were very abusive, so you have to be very gentle alright?”  
“Yes, yes, of course.”

Ezekiel did his best to merge into Claude’s skin as Raphael drew closer, and Claude did his best to not have an untoward physical reaction while his pet was perched on his lap. A moment of rummaging through his bag and then Raphael cupped Ezekiel’s chin and turned his face towards him.  
The boy stared like a stunned frog. Raphael shone a light in his eyes, measuring the reaction of pupils and the following of fingers, then proffered a thermometer, which Ezekiel took after a second’s hesitation.  
“Oh good, he knows the routine.”  
More prodding, more pushing. Ears checked, teeth checked, hair checked for fleas, pulse checked. Ezekiel was painfully still.  
“We’ll need to undress him for this next bit.”  
Oh boy, that wasn’t going to be easy.  
“Oh, hmmm, alright give me a second.” He placed Ezekiel down on the couch and stood. The drifter tried to go after him but he paused and placed a hand up.  
“Stay, kitten, I’m going to get the book, I’ll be back,” he said slowly, pointing at the dictionary on the kitchen counter. The boy shook but was obedient, and soon Claude fetched it, going through the pages as he walked back.  
“Alright so.... Kitten... ’clothes off.... doctor check, health.”  
The boy’s pupils had contracted further with every word, quaking increasing in magnitudes.  
“No. No, no—no—PLEASE—“  
“Chatty little thing, isn’t he?”  
Claude sighed. His kitten’s distress was quite upsetting.  
“I don’t particularly enjoy terrorizing him. Do you really need him to remove his clothes?” The doctor frowned, disapproving.  
“Of course, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. I have to do abdominal and blood checks—and more specifically check for venereal diseases, since you got him second hand. I told you a fresh one would have been better—“  
Claude interrupted him with flustered spluttering and waving of his hands.  
“I g-get it, I get it! But... we did the last t-thing already and he’s clean, so can we do the shirt only?”  
Raphael let out a prolonged sigh at Claude’s ignorance.  
“For now. But I will insist on a more thorough evaluation before I get involved in any more of your nonsense.”  
Claude didn’t seem to care much for the implications at the last of the man’s words, beaming.  
“Great, now, to let him know...” he said, going through the pages until he found what he was looking for. He took a step forward and Ezekiel recoiled, and so he stopped there, opting to crouch instead, making himself smaller and less threatening.  
“Kitten, ‘Only shirt’, Trust, yes?”  
The boy squeezed his eyes shut, hard, but it didn’t stop the tears.  
“Ok.”  
A whisper, and then he was shrugging out of his shirt himself, with utmost reluctance.  
Now it was Claude who recoiled.  
Welts—duller red now with age, but still vibrant against amber skin—crisscrossing his young body.  
“Belt marks. Hm,” Raphael said, without pity.  
“With care they should fade completely in a month or so.”  
Claude bit back his tongue. Because what was expected of him was that he’d already seen and touched every inch of his body, that he would know the welts were there, that there was no reason for him to be so shockingly horrified upon seeing them once more. He wanted to cradle his kitten close and comfort him, but he doubted the boy would let him at the moment. Instead he settled with gently taking one of his hands in his as a sign of comfort.  
Ezekiel squeezed his fingers back, soft. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.  
Lungs checked, abdomen checked, blood drawn. The verdict at this point was thankfully positive; other than being malnourished the boy was in fairly good health, although the weals would have to be looked over. Raphael prescribed antiseizure medication and a cream for the marks and then left with a promise to call when the blood results returned.

Ezekiel flinched as the door shut and then promptly pulled his shirt back on.  
Claude returned to him, once more crouching in front of him and taking Ezekiel’s hands in his, smiling softly.  
“See? That wasn’t so bad. It was good, actually, now we’ll be able to heal whatever’s going on in there.” The drifter didn't look at him or answer, instead shivered and looked away. Claude couldn’t help himself, leaning forward and laying a soft kiss upon his trembling hands.  
“Listen... what if we go eat a few more strawberries?”  
“No hungry.”  
Claude wilted at that. Not hungry for strawberries! He’d really upset his poor kitten! What could he possibly offer now—OH! STRAWBERRY ICE—  
“I sick?”  
Oh, so that was it. He hadn't meant to frighten the poor dear.  
"Yes but, we have medicine for it, you'll be ok, I promise." He reached out, setting a hand gently on one of his arms, where he had seen some of the welts.  
"And these ones will be gone too, ok?"  
The boy looked at his arm, and then up to him, and huffed.  
“NO sick. No doctor!”  
He smiled softly. It was quite adorable how stubborn he was. He was barely able to contain the urge to scoop him up and kiss his cute little face. He settled with stroking his skin with his thumbs.  
"You cute little kitten… I'll figure out how to tell you properly later… For now, don't you want to wear some proper clothes? Maybe get some sun in the garden?"  
“Clothes, yes.”

And this, at least, went without incident. Ezekiel shooed him out of the room to change but let him return when he was done, admiring his new vest and goggles in the mirror.  
“Yes, clothes good.”  
Precious! Claude’s mind assembled an entire wardrobe for the week—no, the whole month—  
“More doctor?”  
“Uh—“  
Claude’s response was all the answer the boy needed, face going sour. Oh, sassy little kitten! He’d have so much fun outside and yet now he was going to have to explain things in more detail to soothe him. Claude sighed and reached for the book.  
Paused as he noticed Ezekiel staring at him, most intently. Like he had after the seizures.  
“Are you ok, kitten? Maybe you should lie down—“  
“No sick.” Ezekiel repeated. As he did, he eased himself a few feet further down the hall. Claude watched him, perplexed.  
“Sick, because...”  
More casual distance between them.  
“...Mala.”  
“Mala?” Claude echoed. He started to look down at the book but there was no need. Ezekiel balled his fists and shouted.  
“I WITCH!”  
Claude stared, blinked, then laughed.  
"Aw, kitten, sure thing! Haha how cute, a witch!" He walked forward and the drifter tensed, but Claude merely patted his head.  
"Now wanna go outside and look at the garden? I figure we could even go to the store and get you more clothes!" He said, completely unconcerned about what he had just said. Because after all, Drifter witches had been all smited, and if his Kitten had been one, then surely he would have smited him back in that alley, and not just his heart!  
More angry little puffs from his kitten, brow creasing in annoyance. How precious and uneducated! Poor little thing, blaming witches for his epilepsy his whole life. Thank goodness he’d found him!  
Regardless, Ezekiel didn’t seem to understand his question. A few translations later and he asked for “garden,” face brightening.

Claude smiled, offered his arm, and after a moment Ezekiel took it and let himself be escorted outside. And he had been right about how cute he would look, frolicking around and playing in the sun, examining his collection of exotic plants and flowers—but most specially taking to the strawberry bushes with unpicked fruit hanging from them. The little rascal. He let him take them as snacks, then took him to the library, where he looked even more adorable as his fingers traced the spines of books he couldn’t read. It didn't deter him either way. Grabbing onto the dictionary, he did the best he could and kept himself entertained while Claude prepared dinner. Afterwards he washed, and the blond, with some gentle coaxing, was allowed to rub the medicine Raphael had prescribed onto the red marks covering his skin. After which Ezekiel tugged his shirt back down right again.

That was the end of their day, which only brought more possibilities with the next one. He had coaxed his kitten to go outside, had been seen by strangers inside, so it was a small leapt to let him be seen by strangers outside. Clinging close to him and wearing his googles, Claude carted him to the nearest store and bought him as many clothes as he was able to make the drifter try on. It got him a few disapproving looks from those who managed to figure out that Ezekiel was a drifter, pampering him so, but it was all the same to Claude. Afterwards he took Ezekiel out for a treat, buying him a strawberry shake for desert and quite enjoying the drifter’s adorable little squeaks. After that it was back home with Ezekiel clinging to his arm, and he had to fight the urge to scoop him up and kiss him. He found the phone ringing at home. It was Raphael, suggesting a follow up check up to the drifter’s wounds. After a moment of hesitation he made an appointment for the next day. He told Ezekiel about it with the dictionary’s help, bit he was having none of it. Claude sighed, then offered instead.  
“Shopping?” And at that the drifter nodded and smiled, chirping happily.

He felt so bad about lying to him he did take him shopping. Bought him another shake before finally herding him to Raphael’s clinic.  
The boy had asked most politely for “children books, I learn English,” and Claude had been happy to oblige, the drifter delving into them, oblivious, as he was ushered to his destination. Claude had always had a knack for languages—a necessity for seduction—but the boy was something else; one or two repetitions was all it took before he’d memorized a thing, and even his struggle with the rules of English grammar he took in bounds.  
All a damn shame, really, because when they drew close to the house from which Raphael ran his clinic, he recognized the word doctor on the plaque out front.  
Shit, Claude thought, and his grip on the boy tightened. Ezekiel looked from the door to his hand, then up.  
“No. Please?”  
“Ezekiel...”  
The little thing offered no further protest, simply burying himself against Claude’s side, and with a sigh the man continued forward.  
Raphael greeted them inside the door. Their second appointment was mercifully brief; just seeing the progress of the welts below Ezekiel’s rolled up sleeves was enough to assure Raphael of the improvement of all, and he was pleased with Claude’s report that there had been no more seizures. The medication was working, and with the boy clearly gaining weight, most of his problems were under control.  
Raphael nodded approvingly.  
“His blood test didn’t show any of the routine diseases we screen for, and at this point I have no reason to suspect anything else is going on. OTHER,” he added at Claude’s hopeful face, “then a recommended THOROUGH venereal screening. And you know, once that’s out of the way...”  
He leaned forward, giving Claude that same half-eyed smirk that had made them friends in the first place.  
“My own pet is in the back, if you’d like a spin.”  
Claude gulped audibly. Well how could he say no to that— Between them, Ezekiel whimpered.  
Oh… Oooooh. Slowly he raised his hands and covered the drifter's ears before leaning forward, his own eyes narrowing for reasons different to Raphael's.  
"Are you sure that's the only reason you want to have your hands so intimately close to my kitten, doctor?"  
Raphael’s hand shot forward, seizing Claude’s jaw and drawing him close. The man choked back a moan as the good doctor hummed into his ear.  
“Well, it’s not the only reason... but aren’t friends supposed to share, Claude?”  
Normally Claude would have purred and flirted right back. As it was, however, he was far too starved to keep himself under enough control to play the game. Instead removed his hands from Ezekiel's ears and grabbed Raphael's face, pulling him in for a kiss even as he walked forward and steered him away from the drifter. He pulled back then, panting, eyes roaming down the doctor's body as he tugged at his coat.  
"You know, what if, instead of that, my kitten plays with yours while you fuck me hard over your desk?"  
Raphael’s hands were already at Claude’s collar, hands undoing buttons with rough efficiency.  
“That works just as—“  
A sudden jolt passed through the man, hair raising, and he yanked himself abruptly back. Claude blinked.  
“Fuck!”  
“Yes, that’s—“  
“What if you have HERPES from that thing?! Dammet, Claude, really, I’m NOT touching you until I’m sure you’re clean! This is why you shouldn’t buy secondhand!”  
Claude blinked, head in a daze.  
“What? What thing?”   
“THAT thing!” The doctor repeated, pointing behind the blond. Claude turned around and saw Ezekiel trembling and sobbing upon the doctor’s table, and the fire within him sizzled and died abruptly.  
“He’s not—“ he cut himself off, realizing how his next words could incriminate him. He had ample proof now that Raphael followed their government’s ideology strictly, thought of drifters as usable and discardable. He moved to Ezekiel, stroked his hair with a trembling hand.  
“I’m going to go, I’ll send you a check,” he muttered, keeping his back turned to the doctor and addressing Ezekiel instead.  
“It’s ok. Let’s go, alright?” He said softly, offering a hand.  
“Going? GOING?”  
Ezekiel folded himself into his arms rather than taking his hand, eyes closed, pressed close. Trusting. To think he’d daydreamed about sharing him with the monster behind him.  
“Claude, don’t tell me you have FEELINGS for that thing?”  
Claude gritted his teeth as he held Ezekiel close. He turned around and glared.  
“What I am FEELING is that you are being extremely DISRESPECTFUL! IMPLYING that I have DISEASES when it is YOU who spends his days with the diseased! How DARE you!”  
“Claude—“  
“Don’t you EVER speak to me or my kitten EVER again!” He snapped, turning around again and storming off.

Raphael watched him go. When the door slammed he spit and vanished into the back halls of his home; cries of pain and grunts of pleasure echoed out soon after.


	3. Chapter 3

Ezekiel was unsettled and tense even at home, no amount of coaxing bringing him comfort. No hungry. No book. The boy fidgeted endlessly and paced, Claude’s offered bowl of strawberries gone untaken.

Claude was massaging his temple and wondering if he’d spend the evening massaging something else when Ezekiel finally addressed him, the first time he’d done so unprompted since their return home.  
“Why you save drifter?”  
Claude looked at him, then smiled gently and booped his nose.  
“Because you’re a cutie~” the drifter made angry little sounds and frowned, looking adorable, which somewhat soothed his mood. But only somewhat. He sighed deeply, sliding down on the couch he was sitting until he lay draped across it, staring at the ceiling.  
“Oh kitten, but it’s true, you were too cute, and you’re even cuter now. What am I going to do? When I like you this much but acting on it will probably terrify you?” He mused, more to himself than to Ezekiel, covering his face with his hands and groaning. After a moment of wallowing in self pity he looked at the drifter, was silent for a second before he asked.  
“Are you better now?”  
“No.”  
The boy wasn’t kidding. Far from looking contented at the man’s reply, his face had gone all the darker. Enough so that Claude sat up to take the matter seriously.  
“You save... more drifter?”  
Ezekiel twisted his face abruptly away, but Claude could still hear his voice as it broke.  
“You save Ezekiel’s brother?”  
A long moment of silence, the drifter beginning to tremble.  
“...Ezekiel.”   
The drifter looked up. Claude was staring at him, frown on his face.   
“If anyone finds out about this, I could go to jail.” Tears leapt to Ezekiel’s eyes and he groaned.  
“Listen... if you know where he is... he can stay here, if he wants. Is he at the slave markets?”  
“No... no.”  
A whisper, then pacing again. The boy began to speak as he moved, every word an effort.  
“Brother save. I run. Brother... bad bad woman, bad bad man. Big man, black hair. Big big man. Woman, red hair. Bad, bad,” a rising groan, the boy tremoring.  
“I want save. I no save. I afraid. I weak!”  
Claude brooded for a moment, then spoke.  
“Do you know where he is?”  
And his kitten, bless his heart, had memorized the address.

Claude was, first and foremost, a coward, and he would not put his wellbeing at risk for another. And yet, the sadness in Ezekiel’s eyes had him doing one awful thing after another!  
First he’d staked the place. Saw indeed the awful awful woman who had hurt his kitten—and then—oh dear, oh god. He hid his flustered face behind the newspaper he was pretending to read until the man had left. Well, he WAS indeed quite big! He couldn’t help but thing about just how big he was—focus, Claude!  
Then came the next and riskiest part. He’d discreetly followed the man, and found a low life bar that he frequented without the woman—perfect!  
A trip to a second hand store, an outfit that he washed about five times before putting it on, and then a trip to the bar himself. He would have been terrified of the absolute scum that filled the place if his eyes hadn’t been focused on a bigger prize. He gave him some time, let him have a few drinks, and once the man got up, he was also on the move. A feigned trip, a calculated fall against the man’s chest.  
“O-oh, I’m terribly sorry!-“ not so feigned shock—he was even bigger up close! The nervous laughter was more authentic than he would ever care to admit.  
“Oh wow... you’re so, so... big,” hand tracing down a toned chest as eyes were affixed to shining sapphire eyes.  
The man looked down at him and licked his lips. Claude’s pants were suddenly all too tight.  
“Hey there, creampuff. Haven’t seen you here before.”  
“Haha, um... yah.”  
Fantastic. REAL casual, Claude!  
He squeaked as rough fingers slid from his throat to his chin.  
“You look like you need a little more cream in you.”  
What sweet fucking poetry. Claude found himself agreeing. He could definitely use more things inside him, cream included. He thought of dragging the man to the bathroom, then remembered his mission.  
“O-oh I don’t know about that, I’m a little shy,” he said, forcing himself to step back when all he wanted was to throw himself at the man’s arms.  
“Do you know somewhere more... private? Maybe then we can get to know each other.”  
A devil’s grin that made Raphael’s seem sugar sweet.  
“Sure. We can go to my place.”  
“A-Alright, then,” Claude managed, and he didn’t resist as the giant wrapped an arm about his shoulders and escorted him out.

They were about two blocks away before Claude snapped out of his dreams and realized they were going the WRONG DIRECTION.  
What to do?! Um excuse me, I think you’re going in the wrong direction to your own house—no no! Uuuh, sorry, but wouldn't you rather go that way—also no!  
As they rounded another corner, at the end of the street he could see the imposing structure of a mansion. His very own neighborhood laid in that direction.  
“O-oh wow, would you look at that? I’ve always wondered how those big houses look like on the inside, haha,” he managed to choke out nervously.  
At this the man paused, examining him with something like thoughtfulness. Yes! Good redirection, Claude!  
“You like girls?”  
The blonde spun around and cling to his knees to keep from vomiting. The behemoth laughed.  
“Yah, I didn’t think so. Then you’re going to have to settle for my humble abode. I prefer to spend my money on more important things.”  
He cocked his head, smile.  
“Pretty little things, like you.”  
And then rough hands enveloped his face, the man’s lips meeting his, devouring.  
And at that point the battle was lost. What had he been trying to do? Why was it important? He didn’t remember and it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the warm body holding onto him and the taste of beer on the man’s lips. Claude clung back, moaning into the kiss as he let those rough hands handle him.  
When the bastard pulled back saliva still joined their lips.  
“Baby, I don’t think you’re going to make it to my apartment. You down for quick and dirty?”  
Claude’s response was incomprehensible. A minute later they were in the closest alley, fucking like animals.  
He hadn’t been screwed like this since he was a teen—no, no, he’d NEVER been screwed like this. The man was massive and powerful and muscular and strong and he bred him well, pinned against the wall with his cries smothered in a thick hand. They exploded and then he was turned around, back to stone, legs locked around waist. White and rapture and another position and—  
When it was over Claude hardly remembered his own name. Thankfully the man was a little better off, patting him and chucking.  
“If you want to see inside a mansion, babe, call me. I’ll bring you over the next time my chick’s out for the night.”  
A number on a note slipped into his hand, and then the demon went sauntering off.

Claude rested against the wall until his knees stopped wobbling, looked down at the number in his hand and giggled. Oh he would be calling him back alright! Whatever his name was...   
Claude stumbled back home in a daze, licking his lips and reminiscing the remnants of a lovely night, and as he pulled his door open, regretted not having brought him along with him.  
Actually... what was there to stop him? He could call him RIGHT NOW to set up round two. He didn’t have to wait for a silly—  
Claude had been all but skipping towards the phone, but now he skidded to a halt, going rigid.  
MANSION!  
As in, WHERE EZEKIEL’S BROTHER WAS! Stupid stupid stupid—and where WAS Ezekiel?!  
“Ezekiel?!” He cried, starting to search frantically under the couches. Noise from one of the corridors. He looked up to the boy, slowing, face distorting in instant anguish at seeing him alone.  
“O-oh, Kitten, listen—“ I didn’t save your brother but I DID sleep with the man helping enslave him. He grimaced at the thought, then remembered the paper in his hand.  
“I wasn’t able to get inside the house—but I will! Soon! S-so... don’t worry?”  
The boy looked at him a long moment before his eyes dropped.  
“Ok.”  
And that was it. Claude did manage to coax him to eat a little soup, but that was all, and then they were off to their respective beds. Claude’s eyes closed to images of a dark stranger, but they opened to a dream of Ezekiel pinned and terrified, Claude’s trembling body covered in sweat.

The next day he made the call, and it gave results immediately. The woman was attending a party in another city and wouldn’t be back for two days. Plenty of time.  
Claude dressed in something halfway between slutty and suave and headed to the house, and the devil greeted him at the door.  
“So over here’s the sitting room,” the man drawled, and thirty seconds later Claude was being pounded to paradise on an exquisite leather couch. They fucked their way through each and every room; they fucked on parlor tables and kitchen counters, luxury tubs and frond-bordered pools, hallway rugs and half a dozen things more until they finished in the master bedroom. Claude rode astride this finest of studs, arching, and came when the man’s guttural whisper proclaimed him one of the prettiest damn things he’d ever seen.  
Then it was over, Claude sprawled dazzled against a broad chest, the man smoking a cigarette with his arm slung around his shoulder.  
Ah, a man could get used to this—  
THE MISSION! REMEMBER THE MISSION!  
Claude startled awake, then fluttered his eyes and feigned innocence.  
“My, this is such a big place for just two people!”  
“Well, if you wanted...”  
“Not with a filthy woman living here!” Claude bristled, his paramour laughing.  
“Your loss.”  
Focus, focus Claude! They’d banged their way through the entire mansion without a glimpse of another soul, so either Ezekiel’s brother was no longer here or he was concealed in a super secret sex dungeon. But how—  
“We actually had two other guys living until about a month ago, but they both bounced right after each other. Bummer, cuz one of them was a real good fuck, real into some kinky bondage shit. You wanna see some pics?”  
Bondage shit… The more he thought of it the more it bothered. The two men definitely had to be Ezekiel and his brother, so was he talking about his brother, then? The memory of red welts all over Ezekiel's body popped into his mind and would not let go.  
"N-no, I… I have to go, actually," he mumbled, pushing himself out of the man's grip, out of bed, scrambling for his clothes and getting dressed as fast as he could. There was no reason for him to stay here anymore, not for himself and not for the mission. There was no reason for the man to be lying to him, he hadn't know who he was or his reasons for coming here.  
“Aw babe, Maeve won’t be home tonight for sure, no reason to hurry off.”  
“N-No no, sorry, but I really have to go!”  
“Got a boyfriend at home or something?”  
Claude made an inscrutable sound and the man merely laughed, closing his eyes without a care in the world.

Home again, as fast as he could, skirting around every shadow he passed. Ezekiel was there when he arrived, safe, thank goodness. The same dread on his face before, but as Claude relayed all he’d learned, his expression turned slowly towards relief.  
Claude felt relief as well. Whew! He’d survived a visit into hell itself and now hopefully his kitten would be a bit less sad—  
“Thank you, Claude. T-Thank you.”  
The boy’s arms around his waist, head rubbed into his chest, a pure and earnest affection.  
For a moment he witnessed the whole thing in awe, staring at the shy kitten now going close to him of his own volition and thanking him—  
He winced, remembering. That Ezekiel was touching him while he still carried the scent and warmth of the man who had hurt him, that he had just slept with him without giving a thought to how that very man might have hurt the drifter. That every ounce of Ezekiel's misery had been his fault. Carefully, gingerly, he pried the drifter off, who looked up at him with big, confused eyes. Claude forced a smile onto his face to try and appease him.  
"It's alright kitten… I'm sorry but… I need a shower, I'll be right back."  
The boy looked up at him. And then more closely, at every inch.  
“Claude, are you hurt?”  
More nervous laughter, the man moving away.  
"No! No, I'm fine I just…. feel dirty…" The last part was muttered as he walked away towards his own room  
Ezekiel watched him go, hands folding restlessly around themselves. He stood there a while longer still before departing.

Claude took a good long while in the shower, enough so that when he checked on the boy, he was asleep. Not in bed, but on a couch in the library, several maps spread on a table before him and littered with notes. Wondering where his brother had gone, perhaps. Claude hoped he was safe, for Ezekiel’s sake. He covered the boy with a blanket and left for bed.

When he awoke—late—it was to a pleasant smell. He followed it to Ezekiel in the kitchen, beaming over pans of breakfast. The pancakes were a little lumpy, and the eggs more squished than scrambled, but it was a fine effort for a first try.  
Claude beamed. He felt much better now that his sins had been literally washed away.  
“Aw kitten, you made us breakfast? Thank you!” He ruffled his hair and couldn't help but lay an affectionate kiss at the top of his head, which the drifter seemed pleased about, further improving his mood.  
He sat down with Ezekiel to eat, and although the food could be improved he gave his compliments to the chef. He was halfway done when, swallowing a piece of buttered bread, he finally decided to ask.  
“So, kitten, what now? Is there anywhere you think your brother might have gone to?”  
“In the city, looking for I.”  
It was a statement, free of doubt.   
“Where...”  
Here the boy sighed, poking at his food.  
“Maybe...” with great reluctance, “...where doctor bought slave drifter.”  
Claude coughed, almost choking on his egg. How had the drifter known? Had he... understood them back then even?   
“Oh kitten... I can take you there if you want to check—o-oh not that I’ve ever been to that awful place, I swear!” He squeaked, waving hands in a placating manner.  
“No.”  
The boy squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers clenched around the silverware.  
“No want to go. But I need to.”  
His eyes opened again, turned to Claude.  
“Brother maybe... no main place, maybe small street. Hide. Look for I.”  
A moment of silence, and then Claude reached out, his hand holding Ezekiel's.   
"It'll be alright." It was all he could think to say, but even that little seemed reassuring to the drifter. They didn't go that very same day, despite Ezekiel's urging. Instead, Claude left by himself and returned with a few required items for their next quest. He apologized before showing. A collar, golden and ornate and denoting Ezekiel to be his property.  
The young red eye looked down at the thing. Had he been made to wear one, when the monsters had him? Owned and used like he was an animal.  
“It ok.”  
Claude looked up. The boy’s hand rested on his own. How dark had his face been, to make the little one concerned for him rather than himself.  
“It ok.” Ezekiel repeated, soft, and his hand moved from Claude’s hand to his cheek.  
Heartbeats. Ezekiel withdrew rather abruptly, looking intently into thin air as color crept to his face.  
Color rose to Claude's face as well. Most unusual, that, usually he he would have lunged at the chance to grow even closer to the object of his affection, but as the collar lay between them, he found himself staying still.It was a reminder to the things that the drifter had suffered.   
"Anyways… we should use today to prepare and go tomorrow," he mumbled, looking away and scratching at the back of his head. For once in his life he'd ran out of words.  
No disagreement. Neither of them were keen to see it. The uncomfortable silence continued until Ezekiel excused himself to read, Claude burrowing into mindless managerial tasks he’d left neglected in the excitement of the week.  
The mood improved a little at supper. Ezekiel popped up and asked if he could teach, please, and Claude was happy to oblige. They shared a fine meal, examined cookbooks for future ideas, and spent the last hour of daylight strolling the garden. Then it was off to bed for both of them.

Claude woke before the sun, to the drifter in his room, setting a blanket on the floor.  
“Ezekiel...?”  
The boy flinched.  
“Sorry, sorry. I had bad... night, head, picture—dream, I had bad dream. I afraid. I sleep here, please?”  
"Oh no, Kitten." The drifter visibly deflated at his refusal, but then Claude pulled the covers off, patted the bed by his side.  
"I couldn't possibly let you sleep on the floor. Come here, please." Realizing all too late the implications of what he had proposed, observed him to gauge his reaction.  
The boy understood quicker than Claude did. He scrunched his face down and went strawberry red.  
“Ezekiel, I didn’t—sorry, I—“  
“Thank you.”  
Quick steps forward, before he could second guess, the boy hauling himself up alongside Claude and wriggling experimentally on the mattress.  
“Warm, soft. Thank you.”  
Oh, he was so cute and adorable. Claude wanted nothing more than to pull him close and eat him all up.  
"I could… sleep on the floor if you want to," he offered nervously, ever afraid that he would infringe on Ezekiel's boundaries  
“No, no,” the boy replied, swift. He didn’t meet Claude’s eyes. The man shifted; maybe he should just get out anyway—  
“Claude...”  
Tentative. Red eyes now on his own.  
“Ezekiel?”  
The boy bit his lip and then moved closer. Inch by cautious inch, as aware of Claude’s nerves as his own. The man watched him with the awe of one watching a wild thing draw close.  
The drifter settled by his side, face snug against his chest, and let out a contented exhale.  
Claude was very still, as one might do when, walking through the woods, suddenly encounters a fawn. Soft and frail and innocent, slowly growing closer and sniffling around. But only very briefly. His excitement couldn't be so easily contained, much less when Ezekiel had greenlighted him so. A moment later he draw him close, purring as he snuggled him.  
"Aw, good night my precious little kitten~"  
The boy hummed in answer, comfortable in his hold.  
“Good night, Claude.”

That night he had wonderful dreams. That Ezekiel had crawled into his bed, beautiful red eyes fluttering, calling his name, tempting. Their lips pressed to one another, warm bodies held close. He purred and pulled him closer, hips slowly grinding against him.  
And his name was on the boy’s lips. Sweet. Lush.  
“Claude.”  
A rising whine of desire.  
“CLAUDE—“  
Claude blinked, eyes still smeared together, a trace of saliva falling from his lips. What was—oh—  
OH NOOO!  
His sweet trusting kitten was in his arms, and here he was two wiggles away from exploding all over him! Claude’s eyes watered. I’m garbage, his inner voice gurgled, I’m so unworthy—  
“C-Claude.”  
And that was Ezekiel, voice faint with pleasure, even as his eyes remained closed in sleep. Claude realized, thunderstruck, that all the stiffness he was feeling wasn’t entirely his own.  
Oh no! Oh no! OooHhhhhHh NnnOoooOoo.  
Claude trembled helplessly and then..Slowly, gently drew Ezekiel closer, burying his face in his soft hair, breathing in his sweet scent, pressing closer to him, their heats trapped between each other.  
"E-Ezekiel."  
"C-Claude," the little thing cried out so beautifully against him yet again and—a warm wet, not his own—  
Claude ripped himself away from him and stumbled as fast as he could to the bathroom before he did something he would not be able to take back.  
The boy jerked awake at the sudden removal of heat and hold, trembling in both release and confusion. Claude was already out of the room, one hand to his mouth and one to his cock, but he heard Ezekiel’s rising gasp of horror and subsequent gurgling.  
Oh no, oh no, oh no! I’m sorry kitten, it wasn’t—well it was sort of me, but it wasn’t SOLELY me—I mean—damn it—shit—  
Claude’s tears were all the fiercer as his freshly flummoxed body struggled to hit climax. DAMN IT  
How he wanted to go comfort his precious kitten but he simply couldn’t—not like THIs!! Still biting down moans as he rapidly pumped his cock in search of swift release. And then it happened, as he groaned quietly, pressed back against the door and slid to the floor, sighing. And then he heard his kitten sobbing, turned around and went to the door—ack, no, turned around again and went for the sink, cleaning up as fast as he could and fastening up his pants again before bursting out.  
“Ezekiel!—“ But Ezekiel wasn’t there anymore. A quick search led him to the kitten’s room, locked shut, soft sobs echoing out. Claude bit his lip, nervous, before he forced himself to speak up.  
“K-kitten? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean... I-I was asleep, it was a dream! I didn’t know... I would never hurt you, I swear!”  
“C-Claude?” A tortured little croak from behind the door. Claude pawed frantically at his hair. Oh God what had he done! He should’ve known better! His poor frightened kitten would never trust him again—  
“S-Sorry!” The boy, wailing apologies at HIM.  
“Sorry—s-sorry—“  
The ruffling of dictionary pages.  
“A-a-accident—I sleep, bed—dirty—sorry, sorry, sorry—“  
Claude groaned guiltily, head thumping once against the door. His poor Kitten, blaming himself for something that hadn’t been his fault at all.  
“No Ezekiel, don’t apologize. I... I also had a dream...”  
A moment of silence.  
“No... no angry?”  
“No, Ezekiel. I’d never be angry with you.”  
Another pause, and then the door clicked open. The boy squeezed out slowly, looking down. He was dressed in fresh pajamas.  
“I... hungry. I cook?”  
“I can cook something for you. What would you like?”  
“Pancakes? Strawberries.”

The man worked in silence while the boy sat in equal silence at the table. Both knew what had happened. Neither knew how to address it. Claude repeatedly rubbed his temple and suppressed sighs and Ezekiel burrowed into the dictionary. When the food was done they ate in continued silence, until near the end. Then it was Ezekiel who dared lift his face.  
“Claude... tell I, about you?”  
Claude blinked, confused.  
"U-um… what?" Ezekiel's brow furrowed with frustration and he went back to the dictionary, flipping through pages, double checking.  
"You, speak, talk… s-say? About you," he tried again, looking up expectantly at Claude to see if he'd understood him this time around.  
Claude still looked confused.  
"M-me? Talk about myself?" Ezekiel smiled, pleased, and nodded in confirmation.  
"O-oh, uh, I don't know," he said, looking flustered. The drifter had caught him entirely by surprise. Why would he want him to tell him about himself? Who knew, but despite the strangeness of his request he did welcome the change in topic.  
"Well… I am a Blanche…." Ezekiel tilted his head, not understanding.  
"Claude Blanche… family?" That seemed to click.  
"My family buys and sells things… many things, all over the country, it's very profitable." He gave Ezekiel a moment to look up that word in his dictionary before he continued.  
"Annnnd I like…." Partying it up all night and getting LAID—No no no he couldn't tell his kitten THAT!  
"Um… food and music… just the usual," He mumbled, shoving down a mouthful of pancakes right after.  
Whatever the reason for his kitten’s sudden fixation, it was clear his simple answers weren’t enough. Head tilted and pages ruffling the boy asked him question after question. Books? Travel? Friends? Claude answered all and more in as non-filthy fashion as he could manage. It must have been a good hour before Ezekiel was satisfied.  
And when he was, he laughed. It was honest and pleased.  
“We are very different.”  
There was no arguing that. Claude rather deflated. Had the boy’s interrogation been meant to turn him off?  
“But.”  
Those crimson eyes met his.  
“You save I. You help a Sol... a red-eye. Claude... thank you.”  
Claude looked away, flustered.  
"It was nothing…" And then a thought, eyes shifting back towards Ezekiel, curious.  
"What about you, Kitten? I barely know anything other than your name and that you have a brother"  
Ezekiel grimaced, and Claude remembered all too late that the boy’s life hadn’t been silver spoons and roses.  
“I’m sorry, kitten, I—“  
“It ok.”  
A reassuring pat to his hand as Ezekiel stared off, thinking. When he began it was in slow starts, between sips of milk and translated words, but the story unraveled nonetheless.  
He had a father and one brother, Van. His mother had died soon after he was born. They had all traveled together, in the great stream of caravans that had earned them the name of Drifters. That wasn’t their real name, he added; they were the Sola, and their stories said they drifted because they had lost their home, but one day would find it again. But that was another tale.  
He had always been too weak and sick to work like his family had. Seizures... he said this slyly, looking at Claude, for reasons the man couldn’t comprehend. But when his body had proven weak, he made his mind strong. He saw things others didn’t. He saw how the clouds and animals moved, how trends began and ended, how to do work in more efficient ways. His predictions helped his people avoid bad weather and make the most of what they sold. And when he wasn’t learning he listened and told stories... although perhaps that was learning, too.  
It had been a good life. But...  
Claude knew much of the rest, and Ezekiel spoke only briefly. Sentiments towards the drifters had soured. Stories of thefts and murders. And then a mass slaughter in a small village, red eyes killing Claude’s kind.  
Ezekiel didn’t know why they had. None of his people knew. The men involved had never been known to be violent or resentful towards the—Ezekiel paused here, said “pale people” as politely as he could, native word unused. Claude had heard it before anyway; Yul. It meant ash.  
But whatever the reason had been, the outcome was infamous. A group of Ezekiel’s people had butchered a group of Claude’s people, and the entire nation had declared war against the drifters who had so long passed through it.  
Attacks. Slaughter. Ezekiel stared at the floor yet kept on.  
A raid in the night. Separated from his family. He’d been caught. His brother had been caught trying to save him. Sold. Escaped.  
...Found.  
Ezekiel looked up at him then.  
“I saw you, before.”  
“In the city?”  
“No.”  
The boy looked down to his plate, stirring leftover syrup.  
“My people... we... were... go south. Very, very south. To warm green mountains. I saw... here.”  
A finger tapped gently to his skull.  
“I tell you I witch. You laugh. But I tell truth. I see... future. I see safety for Ezekiel people, in south mountains. And... I see you. I was afraid. But... then, I see more. I see you, I, together. I no afraid, any more.”  
Another long moment of quietness, Claude staring at him, eyes wide, back straight. A thousand thoughts raced through the blond's mind. What he should do, if it was right, why it was or wasn't, a thousand questions that coalesced in a wonder of whether he was allowed to do what he wanted to do. He found no answer.  
"C-Claude?"   
Claude reached out, took Ezekiel's hand in his, gently but firmly.  
"I like you." Ezekiel's own eyes widened, face going red, and Claude went on.  
"I like you, Ezekiel. I like you so much. I like you the most! From the moment I met you and then every single day after that… and I have been wondering… do you feel the same, Ezekiel? You saw us together but… d-do you want to?"  
“C-Claude.”  
The boy was taken aback. Claude felt the sweat rise to his face. He’d overstepped his boundaries. His hand released Ezekiel’s and slid back.  
“Sorry, I—“  
“Yes.”  
The boy leaned forward and, with a kiss, they were one.  
Claude hesitated only for a second before he drew Ezekiel close, passionate but tenderly, trembling with the effort of restraining his passion. Even after receiving his yes, he was so afraid of scaring him away. And yet, as they kissed, he'd picked him up, stumbling until he found the nearest surface to lay down—a couch. Instead of pinning his sweet lover down, however, he sat, Ezekiel sitting atop him and straddling his waist. Claude pulled back to let him breathe, licking his lips, stroking at Ezekiel's thigh.  
"Kitten, are you alright?" He asked, checking that he hadn't gone too far.  
“Y-Yes.” Managed between gasps. So little stimulation and he was already overwhelmed. Claude’s teeth clicked together. Gently, gently.  
“A little... afraid? No, no afraid. A little... English is hard,” he laughed. “But...”  
Fingers stroked his face again, and Ezekiel’s smile was genuine.  
“I trust you. I want you.”  
Oh fuck, he was already hard in his pants. He bit down a moan, hands stroking his lover.  
“I want you too, Kitten,” he whined, moving forward and nuzzling at his neck, nudging his head upwards to open up space for him there. A hand reached out, tugging at Ezekiel’s clothes, brushing his shirt open, opening an eye to peek at what he revealed even as he kept raining nibbles and kisses upon Ezekiel’s pale skin. He couldn’t help himself, thumb brushing over a perky rosy nipple.  
“You are so beautiful, Ezekiel.”  
The boy rippled in answer, a little gasped exclamation. He was so sensitive. Whatever those bastards had done to him, they hadn’t done it right.  
Claude’s face clouded, but the present wonder before him soon lifted him up. Ezekiel had willingly tossed his head back, letting him roam even as his muscles coiled up everywhere else.  
Nervous—that was the word the boy had sought and hadn’t found. The way he drew his shoulders in ever so slightly, the trembling that was a little too fast for simple excitement.   
Yet his arms closed around Claude’s head, burying himself in golden hair, and it was no guess to see that his approval had overcome his fear.  
He went slower, for the sake of his nervous little lover, warm tongue lapping over gently marked skin as his hands roamed slowly over soft skin, slid to his back, kneading the flesh there, massaging it softly. Ezekiel arched in his hold and sighed with pleasure at the gentle but firm caress of those fingers, slowly easing in his tension, working their way down, down, down. The drifter tensed again as fingers traced over the front of his pants, and Claude paused immediately, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes.  
"Kitten… may I?"  
The answer was already written on the boy’s face. He looked like he’d been shot.  
Shit.  
Claude jerked himself further back, hands he wasn’t sure would be wanted for comfort rubbing at his own scalp instead.  
“I’m sorry, Kitten, I’m sorry.”  
His brief touch had told him Ezekiel was aroused, but what the body wanted and what the mind wanted were, unfortunately, often different things. Damn it all! One step forward and two steps back.  
“I’m sorry, I—“  
“Claude.”  
Ezekiel had regained himself enough to look elsewhere, eyes fixed absently on his knees. But now he looked up.  
Small hands touched against Claude’s chest, a soft push that became firmer, as much as the boy was able.  
“Claude... on, on, big chair, please.”  
The blonde complied with a blink, body settling down along the couch as the boy squirmed atop him. His breathing was still quick, but his eyes lacked the fear of before.  
Gingerly—cautiously—he stretched himself out atop the man, lips pressing to his neck. An uncertain copy of how Claude had nibbled him. Little bites and licks to his throat and lips, a brief kiss, and then red faced and embarrassed the boy hid his face against his collarbone. But his hips moved, slow roils, their heats sliding together in an echo of their dreams.  
Claude closed his eyes and bit back a moan. AH, what tortuous bliss! To be forced to go so slow when he wanted nothing more than to race forward! But even this little was a miracle in itself. That after everything he'd been through, in a few days, his precious Kitten had trusted him enough to now lay atop him, grinding their hips together.  
"E-Ezekiel," he whimpered, arms slowly snaking around him to hold him closer, moving with him, shifting their positions slightly. The drifter still atop him, but their hips not quite so aligned. Claude's thigh slid between Ezekiel's own to better grind him as Ezekiel's fell into the same position, with the blond hoping that soon enough he'd learn the pace and fall into step.  
The boy’s body curved a perfect crescent as he gave voice, and Claude could think of nothing more beautiful.  
“C-Claude—!”  
Fists curved into his shirt as his kitten sunk back against him, gasping, awash in bliss. Yet, as always, Ezekiel proved a swift student. Claude hummed his approval as the boy’s motions echoed his own, clumsy with inexperience, but perhaps all the more erotic for it. A man could get used to this. And what a sight to match delight; Ezekiel rosy in rapture, face burrowed against his chest, shifting in slow waves as he gave and received pleasure.  
“C-Claude!” A sharper exclamation, Ezekiel arching again, a sudden damp heat along Claude’s thigh. And skhdakdhdj SHIT because as darling as the boy was Claude was nowhere CLOSE and he couldn’t exactly ask him for more, could he?!  
“C-Claude.”  
The blonde looked down to find the drifter raising himself on wobbling arms, blinking the dizziness out of crimson eyes.  
“You need... more?”  
And a slim hand set just above his heat.  
And ooh he felt himself THROBBING at Ezekiel's adorable display! To have his beautiful lover, asking with suck concern if his own bliss had been fulfilled. He knew in his heart that the right thing to do would be to take things slow, to focus on Ezekiel's pleasure rather than his own—  
"Y-yes," he stammered, leaning forward and tilting Ezekiel's face upwards and closer as he leaned in for a kiss. Oh, well, his kitten HAD offered after all!  
Ah... yes. This kiss was different than the others. This shyness was intrinsic, not an abhorrent induced fear. Trust, the boy had told him, many times. It seemed he meant it.  
Ezekiel’s hand curled against his skin, and into golden curls. And then rustled softly down across fabric. Auck—Claude had been hoping his kitten would touch him bare—but whatever, this was better than nothing. So, SO much better than nothing!  
Digits traced his outline, examining, and then with firmer strokes the boy worked him, a more precise tending than the squirms of his thigh. Compared to the carnal euphorias Claude had experienced it was damn near equivalent to holding hands. Yet holding hands with a blushing beauty was still an accomplishment in his book!  
And—ah—perhaps it was a LITTLE more than that. Ezekiel’s touches gradually became bolder, and while it was a far cry from the roughness Claude preferred, it was enough. Especially when the drifter pressed forward to kiss him again of his own volition.  
Claude came quietly, breathing fluttering, and after a few more rubs Ezekiel settled tiredly down against him.   
“Good?” A murmured query, the boy’s consciousness already fading.  
Oh yes, Goddamn great, wonderful! MARVELOUS! Every positive adjective in the dictionary—except for enough. It was not nearly enough! Perhaps, if anything, Claude was left even more wanting after having been given a taste of the heaven he could have. But, but, but—if Ezekiel had wanted to take the next step, he would have, instead of falling asleep right on top of him, and Claude at least that much self restraint. He patted his hair gently, gritted his teeth before forcing out words in the sweetest tone.  
"Yes, good kitten, thank you."   
Satisfied, Ezekiel fell asleep and, nimbler than a weasel, the blond slipped out from beneath him to run into his bathroom and finish the job.

With a sad little sigh he cleaned up and left the bathroom back to his room, paused when he saw Ezekiel. The little drifter was fast asleep upon his couch. Pants still dirty. With another sigh he left the room again and came back with a new change of clothes and a wet towel. Carefully, very carefully, he rid Ezekiel of his dirty clothes—doing his best not to peek. Then even more carefully he cleaned the mess of white—being very careful not to linger. He tensed as Ezekiel stirred, moaning softly, but did not wake. Nnnngh how cute! Before long, both thankfully and sadly, his job was done, and Ezekiel was changed and squeaky clean. With a soft smile he picked his kitten up and carried him off to bed, giving him a soft smooch upon his forehead.


	4. Chapter 4

A peaceful night eased into a rosy morning.  
Claude awoke to his beloved still asleep in his arms, relaxed and content in slumber. It had been a very exciting night for him, after all. For both of them, but especially him.  
Claude just resisted the urge to ruffle his hair, muffling a squeal and slipping off to start breakfast while his kitten continued to rest.

A lighter fare today, seeing as they’d had a mid night snack. Parfaits of fine yogurt and fresh fruit. Claude was putting on the finishing touches when Ezekiel shuffled into the room.  
He was dressed and—OH! OH NO he must have noticed the new pajamas, that he was clean, that he’d—  
The boy sat down at his usual chair and, aside from not looking at him, red as a strawberry himself, appeared normal. O-Oh? Maybe he’d changed so quickly he hadn’t realized?  
Then again, why was he so—oh! Well! Hahaha! He WAS a shy little thing, after all.

Claude ate in comfortable silence alongside the boy, enjoying his embarrassment perhaps a little more than he should, but it couldn’t be helped. His kitten was so cute! Especially his little buns! Which of course he’d only seen entirely by accident and not stared at, because he’d never—  
“C-Claude.”  
Claude blinked out of his daydream and looked up. Ezekiel still wasn’t making eye contact, but his darling blush had faded to a different sort of discomfort.  
“Today... we go... market?” Reluctant, Ezekiel not wanting to say what had to be said.  
Ah. Right.  
"O-oh, right! right. Yes, of course we will go, today. Just finish your breakfast and I'll get dressed—and you should also get dressed and we'll be on our way aha," he said, laughing awkwardly at the end before he shoveled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and left the kitchen in a hurry. First he sought out Ezekiel's outfit. One that was both adorable and signaled him as belonging to a higher class. One way or another. He gave these to the drifter and then went to get clean and dress up himself. When he came out Ezekiel was waiting for him, and he was barely able to contain a squeal at how adorable he looked. The drifter looked up at him as he entered the room.  
"We leave now?" He asked, tentatively, and that soured Claude's mood slightly, although he made sure to keep on a soothing smile.  
"Yes, yes, just… I got this—just the day before yesterday, for our trip to the market. I thought it would help us blend in—and, it will deter anyone from trying to take you away, so that they don't know you're a runaway." His expression shifted to worried as he produced a golden necklace with his name engraved—and whom he 'belonged' to. If anyone questioned him then there that would be proof of his 'ownership' over the drifter, and they would be less likely to be disturbed. Still, he knew how it might seem for his kitten, and worried he would be offended by it.  
Ezekiel looked at the thing with a furrowed brow. Claude had thought perhaps it would be less demeaning than the collar, but with the name... maybe it was all the same.  
And yet the boy tilted his head back and offered his throat to him.  
“I trust.”

The lovely morning Claude had awoken to was quickly vanishing under clouds of smoky ash. This was more than the steam of the factories; a storm was coming. Fitting for the mood. Ezekiel stayed close beside him for more reasons than the chain Claude held, people murmuring as they went by. Many would rather his kind eradicated than enslaved.  
It was hard to say things improved as they drew near the market, but they certainly changed. A higher class prowled here, glitzy clothes and refined language, idly chattering about today’s wares. A few complimented Claude on his slave’s beauty. He forced a smile and thanked them as Ezekiel folded into his side and breathed.  
The boy thought his brother would be lurking in the corners, looking for him. Claude had a bad feeling that he was more likely to be displayed for sale, if he hadn’t been bought already. Ezekiel had been fortunate. Unlikely that his brother had been as well.  
“-Well, well!”  
Claude’s head snapped up to the familiar voice. Oh, hell—Raphael. Dressed in finery and grinning at him.  
“Already back for more? Or maybe you’ve taken my advice to heart about buying new?”  
Claude grimaced and clutched Ezekiel instinctively closer. His visceral reaction to the man was quickly explained away with a fast thought lie.  
"Well you won't fuck me anymore. Might as well have you replaced." He scoffed, nose upwards.  
"Now if you'll excuse me…" he paused then, mid turn, then shifted back towards the doctor.  
"Wait… you come here often, don't you? Have you seen a big, handsome muscly drifter around? Have they sold anyone like that before?" He asked, masquerading his inquiries for Ezekiel's brother for interest over a new bed warmer.  
Raphael’s response was a dismissive shrug.  
“Maybe I have. Maybe I haven’t.”  
Claude huffed and Raphael brought a hand to his chest in mock offense.  
“Oh, don’t you get sassy with ME, Claude Blanche! I’m the one trying to protect you and your beautiful ass from venereal disease and you act like I’M the bad guy here! I don’t get it!”  
Claude rolled his eyes at the accusation.   
"My good doctor, if those were your intentions then pray tell why couldn't you just analyze MY ass? Apparently, all this protecting can only be achieved by putting your gloved little fingers all over my kitten, huh?" He stated accusingly, jabbing a finger against the doctor's chest.  
In answer Raphael set a hand lightly on Claude’s offending digit and ran it smooth-swift up his arm. O-o-oh fuck, goosebumps as the good doctor leaned in close.  
“Sharing is caring, Claude... but I suppose if that’s the only way I can help you...”  
The man’s fingers walked their way down Claude’s side and back, tracing the shape of a most fine piece of ass.  
“I’ll do what I must.”  
Claude was quite tempted to take the good doctor on his offer in the nearest dark alley they could find. But then his kitten made a piteous sound, pressed against his side, and it brought him back. Even then, it was hard to say no to such a sweet offer. He grabbed the offending hand and pulled it off  
And it would be way too odd if he did so too. He tugged Raphael closer and hissed in his ear.  
"Instead you should help by doing some penance… but not here. Better at your house, on your knees, all night long," he purred before pulling back and walking away, tugging his kitten with him as he winked at the doctor over his shoulder.  
Raphael twitched. Then called after him.  
“My place? Tonight?”  
“Maybe~” Claude answered, without looking back again. He grinned as he heard the man cursing. Haha, well... maybe.  
His fantasies ended all too soon, and passed him over to a nightmare.  
“Here! Get your pleasure HERE! Young, lovely, and virgin!”  
“Helping hands for around the house! Big and strong and handsome, too!”  
“Your very own servant for a low, low price! Why live like the working folk when you can live like a king?”  
Ezekiel’s eyes remained forward, and Claude would not insult his bravery by looking away. The street around them was now awash with slaves, and it only worsened as they entered the plaza proper. Some young, some too young. Nearly all of them beautiful. And, like Raphael had said, most divided neatly into large and muscular or small and graceful. But was that true? Or had those without looks or strength to save them simply been butchered?  
Even surrounded by delicacies, Ezekiel was the finest of them all. Not just in Claude’s opinion. Eyes were on them, whispers. He drew the boy close.  
More eyes. Red eyes. Claude and Ezekiel stared, not quite comprehending, as a jar filled with them was thrust in their faces.  
“There’s MAGIC in their eyes! HE knows!” The merchant laughed, shaking all the unseeing eyes before Ezekiel as he truly saw, as his eyes dilated in horror.  
ENOUGH! A hand clamped over the drifter's own precious eyes, another lifting him up as Claude outright carried him away from there—not too far, into the closest store, a pub where buyers rested between errands with beer, wine or ale. He sat at one of the tables, Ezekiel on his lap, and after a moment of hesitation, removed his hand from Ezekiel's eyes, looking worriedly down at him.  
"Kitten… how are you?"  
In answer the boy ferreted around to hide his face in his chest. He was shaking so badly that for a moment Claude feared the start of another seizure.  
Across the room, someone whistled.  
FUCK this. It was time to go home. Face sour Claude scooped up his precious bundle, heading out the door and back the way they’d come, away from the slaves, away from the jeers, away from eyes in glass jars. Away from all of it.  
“Claude.”  
A wretched whisper against his clothes. Claude looked down to the boy looking up, tears oozing down his cheeks.  
“I need to find m-my brother. I need to find my brother. I need to find—“  
Fingers curled into his shirt, the boy’s head tucking down, repeating the words over and over like a mantra.  
Despite his beloved's tears he didn't stop. It wasn't safe to for either of them, not in this part of town. He kept striding hastily and carrying Ezekiel with him even as long fingers tangled in soft inky strands of hair and stroked his hair reassuringly, cooing.  
"We will, we will. Not today—you can't find him with those puffy eyes today, can you? But tomorrow, and the day after that, we'll come back and look again, alright Kitten?"  
Ezekiel had no strength to fight it. He didn’t want to fight it. He went quiet against Claude, his pain evident in only the sharp pitch of his chest, and so it was even when they were home.  
And what to do then? Seeing the eyes of your slaughtered kin sold as trinkets wasn’t something pancakes could fix. Claude wasn’t sure it was something ANYTHING could fix. So he didn’t try. Rather, he sought to distract.

Ezekiel had been staring at the same page in his dictionary for twenty minutes before he looked up. To a sound. Claude had left the room at some point, unnoticed, and now a most wondrous noise filled the whole house.  
Claude strummed the keys again and smiled as he heard the drifter enter. Ezekiel drew close, standing beside him as his host’s hands danced across the piano, one sweet strain after another until the song at last bowed to a close. Ezekiel nodded in approval.  
“Beautiful.”  
Claude smiled softly, fingers running lightly over a few keys.  
"Thank you, Kitten, I'm glad you like it. It's called a piano. Had you heard it before?" The drifter hesitated for a brief moment before nodding softly. Claude patted the seat by his side and Ezekiel sat down. Claude began playing another song, soft and hopeful.  
"Do you know how to play?" A shake of the drifter's head.  
"Would you like to learn?"  
“Yes.”  
And then they were master and student once again. Claude had never had a better pupil. Ezekiel was attentive and bright, welcoming of correction and appreciate of praise. But years of music lessons were not learned so easily, after all! The boy tripped over the keys in the faster segments, and the fact that his language and his tutor’s language and the piano’s language were all different things made everything all that more complicated. Still, Ezekiel was strumming out some of the easier children’s songs by lunch.  
They made this together, and talked as they ate. Ezekiel had heard a piano before, but only rarely; his people were travelers, and pianos did not travel well. String and voice were their instruments, and only occasional trips into town had taught them of others.  
The drifter had to consult the dictionary several times as they spoke, and now suddenly his brow furrowed and he flipped to a certain section. He jerked his head towards Claude, indignant.  
“I no a baby cat!”  
“Of course not! You’re a kitten!”  
Exaggerated huffing and more flipped pages, the boy jabbing accusingly down.  
“Why many words for one word? Small, tiny, little! SAME! Why?”  
“To more fully describe the breadth of your cuteness~”  
Ezekiel blushed and fake fumed, squawking when Claude ruffled his hair. His attempts to return the favor were thwarted by Claude standing up, laughing as the boy swirled around him and pretended to gnaw angrily on his arms. And then,  
“More piano, please?”

More progress, but slow, Ezekiel sighing in vexation and stretching his fingers.  
“Hard.”  
Claude grinned like a cat and danced a melody across the ivory.  
“Slow~”  
Ezekiel huffed and waved a hand dismissively before hopping off the bench. Had he teased to much?  
“I teach YOU.”  
Oh? Claude followed, only for the boy to turn around and sheepishly ask if he had a deck of cards. After following him to them the drifter spread the deck, bidding Claude to pick one. He did, glanced at it, returned it to the lot without letting the boy see, and yet a moment later Ezekiel shuffled them all and plucked his card out again.  
“That’s incredible, kitten!”  
“Magic! I witch!” The drifter answered, wiggling his fingers. They both laughed and then Ezekiel showed him a few more tricks before showing their inner workings. Seeing how to manipulate the deck and actually doing it were two very different things, as Claude learned after producing the wrong card for the fourth time.  
“Kitten, this is hard.”  
“Slow~”  
More laughter, playful shoving. Back to the piano. The day’s lesson ended with Ezekiel’s perfect chords, the sweet melody fading into silence. Claude clapped in approval.  
The sun had come out at some point, warm gold now inching towards the orange of evening. It cast over both of them as Ezekiel withdrew his hands and leaned softly into Claude’s side.  
“Claude... thank you.”  
And in that moment Claude was filled with warmth. He reached out, wrapping an arm carefully around Ezekiel and pulling him closer. A soft and quiet moment as the little drifter sunk against him. He stirred then, however, looking down upon his kitten.  
"Say, kitten, how about we make you some dinner now?" The drifter nodded and Claude smiled as they both got up to do just that.  
An hour later, their bellies filled, Ezekiel going to bed and Claude—Claude getting washed and dressed and ready to impress even as he buried in the back of his mind the reasons why he had left the doctor's house the last time he'd been there and focused instead on the warmth and closeness of another beautiful human being~  
Even so, there was a LITTLE guilt. Leaving his beautiful affectionate kitten to go tango with another man. But, well, really, it was for a good cause! He couldn’t ask poor Ezekiel for kisses when he’d had such an exhausting day, now could he? And yet at the same time, a man had to eat! There was really no other solution. And besides, maybe he could teach Raphy to mend his racist ways!  
With these noble intentions in mind, Claude knocked on the good doctor’s door. Raphael opened it in a real hurry.  
“Oh good, I was afraid you weren’t coming! Come in, come in.”  
Door closed, coats off, and then the two cultured men were at each other like animals.

Claude blinked out of his reverie as Raphael pulled suddenly back, scowling down.  
“Um, I do believe I said you’d have to spend ALL NIGHT on your knees, Raphy, and if you aren’t aware it has not yet been ALL NIGHT.”  
“Yes, yes,” the man answered dismissively, wiping white off his lips.  
“It’s just, I thought maybe you’d like to meet my pet.”  
There was no hiding the grimace that crept onto his face. The mention of the man's enslaved drifter brought dark memories. Raphael's cruel words, the nasty welts covering Ezekiel's body, whatever had been in those horrid photos he'd refused to see, the bound and sold and a jar of eyes. He shook his closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in an attempt to get the thoughts out of his head.  
"I really would rather not."  
“Why not?” Indignant.  
“He’s beautiful and I’ve been waiting to show you. I’d say I’m flattered that you’re happy with just me, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”  
Claude tensed. He couldn't let himself be discovered, not even by Raphael, for both his and Ezekiel's sake. And yet…  
"And what else do you think it is?" He prodded, testing the waters.  
“I think you’re in love.”  
Surprise opened his eyes. Raphael did not look as disapproving as he’d expected. If anything, he looked bemused.  
Fuck! What?! FUCK— No, no no no no! He couldn't get outed like this—even if Raphael's expression wasn't so fully condemning. He knew, in these circles, there was only so many people you could trust—likely only the ones who shared the same sins as yours, and Raphael wasn't quite there. He shifted the shock in his face to something else. Surprise, then mirth as he laughed.  
"Really? In love? With who, pray tell?"  
"That drifter you bought—" He caught Raphael's chin in his hand, tilting his face upwards as he leaned forward.  
"Is that why I'm here trying to fuck you instead of him?"  
The doctor scoffed.  
"You don't want to force him, quite obviously." Claude rolled his eyes and leaned back.  
"Ouch, you insult me Raphael. A Blanche has never had to force his way into anyone's bed, much less into that of a street urchin, and I'm not about to be the first. I don't like rough play anyways…but you." A foot slid up the man's thigh, then pressed firmly between the doctor's legs, kneading.  
"You fucking love it don't you? That's what you REALLY want to show me, isn't it? What you've done to him with hopes I'll finally agree to join in?"  
Raphael purred, a smile splitting his lips as he arched into Claude’s touch.  
“Well... perhaps.”  
Claude snorted.  
“But that’s not all of it.”  
Oh, shit. He was thrown even more off balance by Raphael abruptly caressing his way up HIS thigh. Claude staggered and hopped back and Raphael got smoothly to his feet. Now the doctor was the one leaning in all to close.  
“Look, Claude—oh don’t look so nervous, I only bite when you ask. To be honest I used to be the same way. In love with a drifter.”  
THIS was news. Claude tried not to show it. Raphael traced his chin, musing.  
“The very same one I now own. I courted him and was rejected. When the war started I scoured the slave markets every day and was lucky enough to save him. That’s really what it is, you know? Saving them. Claude, listen,” he pressed in, as if sharing confidential information, “they are cute, but they’re also animals. They don’t know how to grow their own food. They don’t know how to till the land, how to make houses. That’s why they live like they do. Moving and migrating like beasts, prone to violence—this whole thing started when they attacked US, remember. Now I’m not condoning the way some people are treating them, not at all, but domestication is really the kindest thing we can do. Think of your little drifter. If he was still out there running around, how long would it be before he cracked his head falling from a seizure? They don’t understand medicine, doctors. You saw how he felt about me! They’re primitive creatures. But now he’s warm in a real house, fed food his kind has no idea how to cultivate, having no more seizures because he has medicine—it’s good, right?”

He had no idea how to refute the doctor's claims—not without giving himself away. Stupid animals, he called him. And all he could think was Ezekiel, learning how to play the piano in a single evening, with Claude as his sole teacher instead of a group of renowned virtuosos.  
"Raphael, you are sick." The man looked taken aback as Claude looked up at him.  
"Drifter this, drifter that, it's all you can talk about, anymore. You're obsessed." He pushed past him, buttoning his pants back up.  
"It's good to have a pet, but at some point you have to step back and be around ACTUAL people." Fuck how it killed him to even utter those words! He was only thankful his back was turned to the doctor as he said them, with the excuse of picking his coat back up.  
"That's why I came here, but we can't even have that… I should go."  
Raphael was quiet behind him. In shock. Claude bit his lip and grimaced and headed for the door.  
“Claude, I... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Can we kiss it all out and never speak of such things again?”

Claude stood at a crossroad, hand still on the doorknob.  
Raphael was his longest... friendship, one of very few continued existences in his life. It had been comforting knowing that no matter what, he could always visit the doctor to feel better. But now he was at the doctor’s, and he did not feel good at all. Even as the offer to go back and mend everything was offered, he did not really want it. Not when he thought of his kitten and the things Raphael would have done to him, like he did whoever he had trapped in the back.  
“No, that wouldn’t be enough.” But he didn't just open the door and leave. Instead, Claude turned around and towards the doctor, corralling him in against a wall as he took his hands in his.  
“I wasn’t joking Raphael, when I said you were sick. You brought an animal in from the street and you say you love him? And you will not stop speaking of him, and you can’t stop thinking about him even when you have the real deal in your hands. HE’s making you sick... so, let me help you. Give him to me, I’ll find him a better home, sell him for twice as much as you bought him. And when you don’t see him again, when you stop thinking about him, then you’ll heal.”  
And the good doctor scoffed at him.  
“USED to love, Claude. I’ve since come to realize exactly what you’re saying. But have you?”  
And then the blonde was wheeled around, and now HE was the one pinned to the wall, Raphael an inch from his face.  
“YOU’RE the one in love, Claude.”  
Claude gulped and attempted to merge into the wall. Raphael snorted.  
“Maybe I should take YOUR little pet, and—“  
Whatever the look on Claude’s face was, it was too raw to take back. Raphael blinked. And then released him, stepping back and sighing in frustration.  
“Never mind. Go, then. When you come to your senses, you know where to find me.”  
A dismissive wave of his hand as he turned around, heading towards the hall.

Claude left the house without uttering another word, stumbling outside towards the nearest carriage to take him home.

Ezekiel stirred as sounds echoed back to him from the kitchen. He figured Claude was making breakfast, and although he still felt tired, decided to crawl out of bed to help him. He stepped out into the kitchen, rubbing his sleepy eyes.  
“Claude—“  
“Oh Claude you’re—“ Ezekiel froze, because that was not Claude’s voice, and that was not Claude sitting at the table and helping himself to bread and milk. The stranger was blond and blue eyed, like Claude, but much smaller in size.  
“Thief!”  
“Thief!” Squealed simultaneously, both of them pushing accusing fingers at each other. Another moment of silence as they realized that while they did not know each other, perhaps Claude did. But then the stranger looked at him, really looked at him, frowning.  
“Wait a minute, are you...” he got off the tale and to Ezekiel before the drifter could barely do anything other than take a few steps back, grabbing his face, looking at him in the dim light.  
The blond’s eyes widened in horror as he confirmed his suspicions.  
“A drifter! Claude as well?! Noooo I’m done for!” He cried, letting go of Ezekiel and stumbling away before collapsing upon the nearest seat and crying.  
And Ezekiel stood there, trembling, before resorting to the only current defense he knew;  
“Claude! CLAUDE!”  
No answer, no indication of where he was. The intruder continued wailing about his race. Ezekiel whimpered and began slinking back towards the hall.  
The blond ignored him entirely, continued wailing instead while Ezekiel stood by the hall but did not dare to leave, least the intruder try anything. But no matter how much he wailed or how much Ezekiel called for Claude, the man did not come—until, a few minutes passed, the front door opened, and there was Claude.  
"Claude!" Spoken by both with obvious relief. Claude stopped dead in his tracks, looking at the blond.  
"What—Prince? What are you—where is Ezekiel—Ezekiel!" He'd looked around and spotted him and then stepped over the other blond to get to him, pulling him into his arms and holding him tight. Ezekiel could feel him shaking.  
“Claude.”  
And now the boy’s voice was the one alarmed, looking up as his guardian folded around him.  
“You hurt? You ok? Where you go—why afraid?”  
Words spoken even as the drifter stroked his shoulder, trying to offer comfort.  
Claude held him close and buried his face in his soft hair, breathing in his sweet scent. He shook his head softly.  
"It's ok, it's ok, I was just worried about you."  
"W-why?" He turned around. That was Prince, standing, looking at him with a horrified expression in his face.  
"Didn't you buy him? Isn't he a slave? then why… everyone else is the same, they all bought one too and won't visit anymore, and if they can't buy one they are up for rent. And if they do come they want to do… t-things. They say they can do them to the drifters for cheaper so I should just…" The blond shook, then surged forward, clinging to Claude's coat, tugging.  
"Hey, Claude, why don't you want me? I know you're good. You could do anything to me too, just like that drifter, and it'll be for free, if you keep me, please?"

Ezekiel had turned to look at Prince as he spoke, even as he remained protectively enclosed in Claude’s arms. He didn’t understand every word the other said, especially not with the rapid fear with which he spoke, but he understood enough. His brow furrowed and he turned back to Claude.  
“Not drifter, but, slave, too?”  
"What? No he's—"  
"I can be a slave too! Please I really will do anything. I'll even do it with the drifter while you watch—"  
"Enough!" Hands clamped over Ezekiel's ears hopefully in time to keep him from hearing that. The smaller blond recoiled and cowered, looking on the verge of tears, and Claude felt slightly guilty for it.  
"Fine, fine, you can stay in one of the spare rooms for now, but don't tell anyone—and don't talk to Ezekiel."  
"Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!" The blond squealed, happily throwing himself at both of them and clinging.  
Ezekiel squirmed, uneasy at the closeness of a stranger, and Claude shooed Prince off in answer. The newcomer looked almost devastated but complied. Ezekiel went back to squinting at him, head tilting, as if he were some puzzle he couldn’t quite piece together.  
“What time, is?”  
“Oh, um, it’s... still night time,” Claude managed, because there was no lying around that. He knew the next question before it was asked, Ezekiel looking at Prince, then up to him.  
"Where you?" Claude scratched the back of his head and laughed nervously.  
"Haha, oh, just visiting a friend, really." And that was also not a lie. Before the drifter could keep grinding him for answers, he began tugging him away, back towards his room. They stood before it, and the blond gently eased him inside as he smiled.  
"You should go back to sleep, Ezekiel. It's still too early. I'll deal with Prince tonight and we'll talk more tomorrow, yes?"  
The boy stared up at him. Claude groaned inwardly. Yah, right, as if he could get away THAT easily! He could practically see the questions forming—  
“Claude, ok?”  
Ah, his precious kitten, even now worrying about him. He stroked his hair gently.  
“Yes yes, good night drifter. It’s my turn on the Claude now,” Prince interrupted to Claude’s horror, tugging him away from Ezekiel and pushing him towards the man’s room.  
He hadn't tugged too long before Claude picked him up and smacked a hand over his mouth, muffling the blond's indignant squealing.  
"I'm alright, Kitten. Go to bed, I'll deal with this stinky little street cat myself." He muttered the last while he carried Prince to the guest room, closing and locking the door behind himself.

Ezekiel watched them go before retreating to the sanctuary of his own room. He, too, shut and locked the door.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning began cold and gray. Claude groaned and rolled his purring bedmate off him before sitting up, stretching.  
Yesterday’s worries returned like a strike. His kitten! He left his newest guest still sleeping and rushed out the door.  
Ezekiel wasn’t in the kitchen as he had been the last few days. Chill sweat rose on his skin. He raced to the boy’s room, tried the door. Locked. A good sign, hopefully.  
A squeak answered. Even better! The door swung open to Ezekiel, already clean and dressed, a pile of books set on a chair behind him. Claude wheezed in relief. Ezekiel, more pensive, peered down the hall.  
“He go?”  
“Oh, no, he’s still here, but don’t worry about him, he sleeps through the day.” A habit the other blond had acquired to sustain his... work schedule. But Ezekiel didn’t need to know that.  
“Now, what would you like for breakfast? I’ll make whatever you want.”  
Ezekiel didn’t answer. He was still staring down the corridor.  
“He is... your friend? You trust him?”

And well, he supposed he was. And to be quite honest he trusted him far more than he trusted Raphael. He stroked the drifter’s hair and nodded.  
“Yeah, he’s my friend. He might be a bit too touchy feely but he means well, for the most part.”  
“Ok.”  
Ezekiel seemed less than convinced and less than thrilled. Even pancakes with strawberries failed to cheer him; he picked at his plate and finished less than half of it. Claude was about to offer something else when the boy mumbled.  
“Market, again?”

Now it was Claude's turn to look anxious. He set down fork and knife and wrung his hands, looking downwards for a long moment before he finally brought himself to speak to Ezekiel.  
"Kitten… I… it's not a good day. It's about to rain and…" Ezekiel's eyes seemed to fill with horror, and whether consciously or not, he leaned away from Claude.  
The man reached out, took the drifter's hands in his, desperate.  
"I'm afraid… that someone will take you, Ezekiel, that someone will steal you away—and what if I can't protect you then? Can we… stay? please, I'll go myself, I'll take pictures, I'll show them to you but… I don't want to take you to that place anymore."

And—there was relief on the boy’s face. Thank the heavens! Claude felt himself able to breathe again. This was a much safer strategy for both of them—  
Ezekiel crumpled, arms clutching at himself.  
“What—what if brother there, you bring picture, too slow—brother sold—brother—“  
The boy lurched forward, crushing his face against Claude’s hand and the counter as he scrunched back tears.  
“Brother die—brother die because I no go—“

Claude reached out immediately, stroking the drifter's hair reassuringly as he leaned forward, moving closer.  
"No, Kitten, don't be sad please, that won't happen, he won't die." He debated whether it would be wise or not to tell him his reassurances were based on the material fact that it was unlikely his bigger, stronger brother would be bought to be slaughtered instead of used for menial jobs such as tilling the earth or moving heavy merchandise. He didn't really have time to make a decision, however.  
"Ugh what are you being so loud about? It's still bright out!" Prince whined, yawning and rubbing at his eyes even as he walked towards them—thankfully having put on a blouse first that at the very least covered everything important.  
"Prince! Not now!" Claude hissed, motioning towards the crying drifter. Completely disregarding him, Prince hopped onto the stool next to the drifter.  
"What is he crying about? Did you forget to give him a good morning kiss?"

Ezekiel offered no response to the other’s query. Instead he pushed further into Claude’s touch, accepting the comfort he offered.  
Truly a kitten, Claude thought, and he sighed and continued stroking as the boy continued oozing unhappiness.  
And mumbled something. Claude didn’t quite catch it.  
“I...”  
English, this time, and clearer. With effort Ezekiel raised his head, hand settling against Claude’s.  
“I need... I need see, more. See where...”  
The boy hissed, eyes closing.  
“Useless. I no see, since doctor—“  
Abrupt silence. Ezekiel’s eyes opened, fixing silently on him.

Claude blinked, then his eyes widened slightly with understanding. He squeezed Ezekiel's hand in his.  
"Kitten… I know you don't like him but… the doctor cured you. Your seizures… you were sick, it's a good thing it's gone, you're better now."

Ezekiel did not share the sentiment. His face clouded and he looked down, busy with his own thoughts.  
Prince yawned loudly and that startled him out of it before Claude could. Ezekiel turned unhappily towards Claude.  
“I want go—“  
A sudden steady drumming from outside the window. Three heads turned to see a cascade of water sliding down the glass.  
Ezekiel sunk in much the same manner, dropping down into his arms and shutting his eyes.  
Claude gently stroked the drifter’s head, offering some reassurance.  
“Ezekiel, I’m sorry.”  
“Where does he want to go anyways?” Prince interluded, munching on an entire loaf of bread, although when he had gotten it Claude couldn’t tell. The blond sighed.  
“He wants to go to the... drifter market, to see if we can find his brother but... that place isn't exactly a bastion of law and order, and I’m afraid someone might try to snatch him away!” Prince nodded in agreement as he munched some more.  
“Yeah, you’ll definitely get mugged unless you buy yourself a bodyguard.”

And Ezekiel’s head shot up like a firework.  
“Guard? Guard!”  
He almost threw himself across the counter in enthusiasm, seizing Claude’s arms and wagging them.  
“Go market, buy guard! Help—safe—buy guard, yes yes yes yes!”  
And well, oooh. His kitten would be safe, doubtless very pleased to have saved another drifter, and HE would have a big hunking new man around the house! Heck, they might even find Ezekiel’s brother while looking—although, um, that might cause complications. Best to save him AND buy a guard if that happened. You know, as an act of kindly mercy.

"Well, I suppose we can do that… but let's wait for the rain to pass before that, shall we?"  
"Oh, oh, can I go? I can show you around the place!"  
"Yes, yes, I suppose you can go. Now go get a shower you little street cat," he said, lightly teasing the other blond who scurried away happily, taking his loaf of bread with him. Claude watched him go, then offered Ezekiel a sympathetic smile.  
"You should go get ready as well, I'll make breakfast meanwhile."  
Ezekiel nodded happily, hopping off his chair and hugging Claude before scurrying himself to his own room. Claude, meanwhile, busied himself making breakfast for three. His cute little rescues were done getting ready almost at the same time, returning to the kitchen together and dressed in fine clothes. Oh, how adorable. He really hoped Ezekiel and Prince became friends, there was so much to be gained for all of them~

Ezekiel sat down to eat while Prince wolfed down his food like he was starving, despite having previously eaten all the bread inside the house. By the time they were done it had calmed outside, and Claude had no more excuses to keep himself from taking Ezekiel out. Again Ezekiel donned his collar, while Prince clung happily to his other arm, and then they were out. The younger blond led them to where they could find a drifter to buy. And Claude hoped that they might also even find Ezekiel's brother. Thankfully the store wasn't actually inside the market. It remained a few blocks away, in a busy and safe part of the city, which eased Claude's nerves even as he held Ezekiel close.

There was no sign of any drifters outside, but rather, the men were inside. The building was comprised of a large, wide room, with cells lining up the farther edge of the place, shadows lurking in them. Immediately a clerk sidled up to them, offering a smile.  
"Hello gentleman, how may I help you?"  
"We want your biggest and baddest drifter!" Claude grabbed Prince by the skull and smothered him against his side to keep him quiet.  
"Aha, no, actually, I'm looking to make a purchase and I'd like to see everything you have in stock."

The man rubbed greasy palms together and offered an even larger grin. Claude concealed a grimace. The little rat couldn’t have looked more like a stereotypical slimy salesman if he tried.  
“Of course, of course! Right this way—“  
And then there was no avoiding the reality of it. Ezekiel pulled close and Claude wrapped an arm around him in what hopefully looked more like a possessive gesture than a comforting one. Face after face, beautiful, foreign. Unfamiliar. These men had been curated for quality and Claude had no doubt Ezekiel’s brother would be here if anywhere. But he wasn’t, cell after cell, other souls looking out with sorrow for his kitten and hate for him.  
Three cells left to check. Two. One.  
Ezekiel slumped and Claude knew their mission had failed. The stupid merchant sidled up behind them, beaming.  
“Now this is our largest specimen by far—exactly what you’re looking for, I’m sure!”  
Well, yes and no. Claude had been watching Ezekiel more than the slaves, but he looked up now and laid eyes upon the biggest man he had ever seen without question. A hulk of muscle and untamed hair, huddled quietly in the back corner.  
Imagine the cock on that thing! Claude prickled all over. And yelped as the passive giant suddenly lunged forward.  
“Prince.”

Prince had been looking at the prior slave, thinking over something, but he turned at his name. And his eyes, too, widened in recognition.  
A moment later and without hesitation he had lunged forward as well.  
"Big guy!"  
"Prince no!" Claude shrieked, not moving fast enough to catch the little blond, bracing himself to watch him be ripped apart by the beast in front of them. But no cry of pain greeted him, no splashing of warm blood anywhere, instead the beast of a man clung to Prince through the bars more tenderly than he thought was physically possible.  
"Big guy, why are you here? Did they sell you? —You're bleeding! Was it because you didn't do what they wanted? Don't worry, I'll get you out of here!" With that he turned to Claude, biggest watery eyes ever, lower limp trembling.  
"Please Claude—him! Let's get him! He will be the most wonderful bodyguard ever, I can vouch for him!"

Ezekiel’s approval was obvious, if muted by necessity; a simple encouraging squeeze to Claude’s hand.  
The beast spared them only a brief glance. It was Prince he sought, Prince he nuzzled with a softness that defied his size.  
“Prince, I am happy you are safe.”

Claude was both frightened and excited at the sight of the behemoth in front of him. But well, it seemed the matter had been settled.  
"This is our finest specimen, I'm sure he'll suit all your needs, gentleman."  
Claude frowned, not looking convinced by that statement.  
"Hmm, oh well, really? Because—look at that, he's all bruised and cut. That looks infected and—" Gathering all his courage and silently praying to every single god at the same time, Claude kicked the bars of the man's cell and thanked the heavens when it caused him to wince instead of pull him over and snap his neck like a toothpick.  
"Hey! Don't be mean! You're scaring him!"  
"Not much of a bodyguard… is he second hand? He looks second hand. Is this really your best? Wouldn't want to see the others!" Said loud enough for many other clients to hear, looking at them before murmuring amongst each other.  
Claude bit back a smile, trying his best to look disinterested.  
"So, how much did you say he was?"

What a steal, he'd robbed the man at the first try. Their purchase finalized, ownership titles signed and handed over, they found themselves riding a carriage back home, the giant of a man locked in a cage on the back, chained on hands and ankles. The men from the store—five of them, carried the cage to his backyard among huffs and puffs, and left hurriedly back to work.  
Claude stood in front of him, key in hand and looking unsure on whether this had been a good idea. He squeaked as Prince snatched the keys from him and moved to open the door.  
"Let him out! poor guy, they got him good."  
Hastily, Claude grabbed Ezekiel and ran back to his house, closing and locking the door behind him and peering nervously out the window. Prince opened the door and moved inside, taking the man's hand and looking worriedly at his wounds.  
"Did they do this because you were good to me? I told you you could be a bit rough. I've had worse."

And the giant held his hands in answer with the utmost grace.  
“They wanted more rough than you, Prince. They wanted me to hurt you. I am ok and you are ok, and that is most important.”  
The beast lifted his head, watching the two strangers through the window. The boy was babbling something at the man and going for the door only for the man to desperately try to stop him, the boy squawking in response.  
“Is this man... bad?”  
"No, he's my friend. He was just acting mean so they would sell you cheaper but normally he's alright." Prince then busied himself unlocking the chains that trapped the man's wrists and ankles, thick metal clattering loudly against the floor. He turned to look at the window too before gently tugging the man forward, coaxing him to go out of the cage.  
"He's just scared of you I think, but it's okay because they need your help to find someone. Now let's go inside, it's warm and nice and he has loads of bread!"

For being the largest member of the group by far, the new drifter was terribly timid. He followed Prince with slow uncertain steps, stopping often, peering around. His little companion, in contrast, threw open the door with full enthusiasm, ignoring Claude’s screeches at realizing he hadn’t locked it properly.  
“Come on, big guy. Don’t be scared!”  
And then the huge thing was IN HIS HOUSE. Ezekiel squirmed loose while Claude stood paralyzed, starting into a rapid fire exchange with the beast in his native tongue. Slow, ponderous answers from the giant, and then both drifters turned to Claude.  
“It ok. He good.”

"Ahaha, yes, good, we're all good—I'm very good too so nice to meet you mister big man," he stammered nervously keeping a 'please don't kill me' to himself. Introductions exchanged, Prince impatiently tugged the giant drifter to the kitchen, sitting him down on a stool (how it managed to hold his weight a mystery) and then running around the kitchen taking Claude's food to feed him.  
"Here big guy, I'll make you a sandwich—Claude even has the nice sweet ham that tastes like honey! have you had it? Actually you're so big, I'll make you two sandwiches!"  
Uncertainly, Claude drew closer, more to remain by Ezekiel's side than anything else.  
"So… is his name really big guy or?"

His kitten turned back to the hulk, chirruped. Claude recognized the word for name. The beast scratched his head and answered tentatively. Ezekiel abruptly started laughing.  
“W-What is it?”  
“His name, is... friend-name, mm, small and son? Nendel. Means...”  
The boy produced his oft consulted dictionary, flipping the pages.  
“Junior.”  
“Here Junior, eat your sandwiches,” Prince chirped, pretending that he had actually known the man’s name before. Junior took it and ate it in two bites, as if the footlong was no bigger than a canapé.  
“Junior help us, market now, yes?”  
“Well I suppose...”  
Prince gasped indignantly at that.  
“No he will not! He is hurt and dirty and half naked! You can’t take him out on the street like that! It’s not decent!” The tiny blond fumed, glaring at them both.  
And well, quite honestly, Claude was not at all eager to return to the market, however much his kitten wanted them to, so he played into Prince’s words.  
“Oh, Prince is right, we should let our guest rest for a while, and I’ll arrange for a tailor to come by tomorrow to get his measurements. I doubt they have clothes his size at the market... even at the drifter market,” he said, losing his fear and beginning to let his eyes drift over the marvel that was Junior’s body. Oh to be held under by those monstrous arms...  
“Yes yes, but first call Raphy! He needs to get his wounds checked!”

Ezekiel, who had been the picture of an affectionate if over-eager kitten, went rigid. Claude clamped a hand over Prince’s mouth before he could say anything else, but it was too late; Ezekiel puffed up and then exhaled in a below of exotic outrage. Junior blinked in bewilderment and began to look more and more fearful by the second.  
“Oh, oh, oh no. He says Raphy is very, very bad. He says he will try to touch my—“

Prince pried Claude’s hand off his mouth and spoke, looking pensive.  
“Oh well, maybe he will try to do that... probably—but he’s very good at touching them so—“  
“No, no, listen... Raphael and I we... aren’t on the best of terms—and its not so bad, we can fix those scratches ourselves, I’ll fetch the bandages,” Claude offered. Prince did his best to try to help, but the biggest brunt of the work went to Claude, who winced even more than Junior did as he cleaned, disinfected and bandaged the wounds.

When he was done, Prince was tugging at the giant again again.  
"Come on Junior, You can take a bath in my room"  
"Don't you dare you little--" Prince looked over his shoulder at Claude and stuck his tongue out, knowing the man wouldn't get anywhere near Junior, and giggled as they disappeared behind the now locked door of the guest room he'd invaded. Claude sighed, rubbed at his temples.  
"Well, I suppose I should make you lunch, then?" With nothing else to do, Ezekiel nodded, and the two began preparing their next meal together. They'd barely set down their plates when the sound of rhythmic thuds and muffled moans echoed back to them from the bedroom.

Ezekiel’s head snapped around like a bird’s, wide-eyed, red. Claude sighed and reached over, picking up both their plates.  
“Let’s eat in the library, then.”  
Quiet enough to eat, quieter still when Ezekiel barely spoke. His blush was persistent and oft paired with frowns. Claude wasn’t exactly filled with merriment himself; the NERVE of that little bastard, getting him to spend his money and then running off with the prize! To make matters worse, Ezekiel had been a little too attentive while they cooked, and there’d been no chance to slip his medicine into his food. Oh well, one or two missed doses wasn’t the end of the world. Still, aggravating.  
Claude’s sighs were interrupted by the sudden strum of the piano. He looked up to his kitten, smiling, nervous, asking his teacher without words for more.

Claude was happy to oblige. By the time they’d finished, the rain was pouring down again. Ezekiel shook his head like an unhappy dog but knew there’d be no outing today. And no sales either, in this weather. If his brother was there, he’d be safe tonight.  
So instead they read and—to Claude’s great delight—explored his closet for tomorrow’s fashion. Kitten’s choices left much to be desired, but even here he was a quick learner, readily agreeing to Claude’s suggestions and becoming wiser—and cuter—for them.  
Their happy day was punctuated by the other two idiots running sporadically between the kitchen and the bedroom, Claude’s temple twitching with every giggling pass. His headache only got worse when Ezekiel again was too nosy about supper preparations for him to medicate him. Too tired for another health argument Claude resigned to simply get up before him and put a double dose in breakfast.

Another hour, idle chatter, the pleasure of Ezekiel’s company soothing Claude’s thoughts. Then it was bed, and...  
For just a moment, before the boy moved to his door, he met his eyes. A long moment.  
And then, peach faced, he shrilled a goodnight and slammed and locked the door. Ughhhhh.

—And the other two fuckers were fast asleep with the door locked!  
“DAMN you, Prince! Damn you to HELL!”  
A loud snore for his troubles. Claude kicked the door and stalked off, fuming.  
“Oh I’ll do ANYTHING for you, Claude! I’ll be your adoring sex slave! Except actually I’m going to ditch you for a bigger dick as soon as I can! Well FINE then, be that way, may your butthole BURN!” Claude hissed, fingers going in and out of angry fists.  
“—Claude.”  
He stopped. His name, weak, longing. He was outside Ezekiel’s door. Inside...  
The boy cried for him, over and over, sweet and soft.

He pressed against the door as quickly and as quietly as he could. Ah, the sweet whisper of a moan, again, clearly, the sound of his name in that beautiful sing song voice.  
"C-Claude."  
Oh, Kitten! He was hard in an instant, biting down a moan himself, lest his scare his poor kitten.  
But no, why would he be scared? Wasn't he the one calling him now? Hadn't they already shared each other's warmth, willingly and lovingly? Surely it would be a disservice to leave Ezekiel alone and cold when he could answer his call so easily—What if, in fact, his kitten WANTED him to answer his call. With a shaking hand he tested the door and-Aha! found it unlocked and welcoming! It opened soundlessly, letting him in and treating him to the sight of Ezekiel.  
Sweet, beautiful Ezekiel, tangled upon his bedsheets, hands busy inside his pants, arching as he muffled his name yet again against the pillows. He stepped forward, not a single floorboard creaking under his weight of his steps, giving him a closer look of his beloved's beauty. The rosy cheeks, the inky strands of hair rustled by his movements, the pale skin under his clothes, and the hard cock already oozing between his own fingers.  
"Claude."  
"Ezekiel." A hand on his beloved's cheek, drawing him in for a kiss, and another joining his own between his legs.

Ezekiel arched and—  
Screamed, legs clamped together, hands shoving at Claude’s chest. The man extracted himself immediately, halfway back across the room in a single bound, eyes watery.  
“Ezekiel I—I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh shit I’m—shit—I’m SORRY—“  
A further rapid retreat to the hall, Claude clutching his head, groaning. Shit! Days of affection and trust undone by him being an impatient WHORE! His sweet kitten was so confused, so damaged, didn’t yet know what he wanted—and here he’d gone and flopped on top of him like a marauding pervert! Ooooh!  
Rapid back and forth pacing. He should go! He should stay! He’d scared him! He shouldn’t leave him alone if he was scared! He should, he should, he should—  
“Claude.”  
The man stopped, looked up. There was his kitten, still trembling in startlement and—something else.  
“E-Ezekiel,” Claude stuttered, looking down. In doing so he saw the slim hand that gently pressed to his heart. He dared look up again.  
“Claude.”  
His kitten’s voice was soft, a sudden bastion of the calm that had fled him. He leaned forward and rubbed his head against his host.  
“I want you.”  
Claude blinked. And then his pupils dilated.  
Words he had heard, many, many times before. Different, now. A physical desire, yes, but also something—more.  
Ezekiel’s voice, a muffled murmur against his chest.  
“I choose you.”

"O-oh Ezekiel." Trembling hands rose to stroke Ezekiel's soft hair and cradle him closer. The drifter was so calm even when the blond trembled all over—and it should be the other way around.  
"I w-want you too—I'm sorry… are you sure? I'm so so s-sorry." His precious kitten nodded against him once more and then, as if to prove himself, pressed his lithe body close to Claude's own, showing his eagerness. Oh gods he wanted to die both from bliss and shame. He moved forward, hands sliding downwards, cupping Ezekiel's face and tilting it upwards as their lips met in a gentle yet passionate embrace, as Claude sought one last reassurance that he would not trespass upon Ezekiel's boundaries and received it when the drifter kissed him back. He pulled back, panting, looking into his eyes.  
"Ezekiel, more than anything, I want you too."

And the one he cherished smiled, and Claude could dream no truer answer.

They ended in the bed—the blonde couldn’t quite recall how they’d gotten there, but he felt Ezekiel had led him. Claude definitely remembered having to jump up and close and lock the door. If Prince ruined this he’d STRANGLE HIM!  
Then... warmth, closeness. Ezekiel astride him again. The taste of his lips. Similar to before—too similar. What if the boy only wanted a repeat?! Claude felt his poor heart would burst, stressed to death and not sure if he’d found heaven or hell awaiting.  
Ezekiel suddenly straightened, a faint rosiness coloring his cheeks.  
Slim hands rested against Claude’s collarbones. Against the hem of his pants.  
“Cl—“  
The question hadn’t been voiced before Claude’s head was wobbling yes spastically enough to pop off. Ezekiel took a minute, steadying himself, and then.  
It was hard to say who was blushing harder because they BOTH refused to make eye contact with each other. Nonetheless, Ezekiel moved. Fingers kneaded into the soft skin of Claude’s groin, painfully delicate, the man groaning as his thighs twitched. Thumbs added smoothly to the mix, creeping slow circles around his sacs.  
Oh, hell. This was definitely hell. Claude threw his head back as Ezekiel’s tongue at last graced his shaft.

For the first time in his life Claude had to fight not to cum on the spot. It was only a lap—but it was EZEKIEL lapping at him, EZEKIEL's precious tongue touching his cock! How long had he dreamed of this seemingly impossible moment only to have it come true? He made unintelligible sounds as his kitten kept licking at him, his cock oozing, white knuckles fixed upon the bed. And then, stupidly, he'd gone and looked down, just as Ezekiel opened his rosy lips to take his whole length in even as he looked up at him, their eyes meeting. Claude bit down on his own hand to keep himself from exploding all over Ezekiel's face even as he watched entranced his engorged cock disappear inside his beloved's precious mouth, again and again and again, squeezing, suckling—and there was only so much a man could take. With a loud, broken moan Claude came in his mouth, plentiful and warm, the drifter struggling, but somehow, perfect precious thing that he was, managing to swallow all of it, slowly pulling back as he gave his cock one last, cleaning lap. Claude panted where he lay on the bed, his whole body shaking, staring at the ceiling as he laid there flustered.

And as Claude lay there, Ezekiel crawled close, cuddling in against him and making pleased sounds, taking Claude's flustered face as positive feedback. The man stirred then, however, looking at Ezekiel, going redder, and then grabbing him in his arms.  
"K-Kitten! I... m-may I… may I return the favor? Please?" The boy blinked, then flushed himself, before nodding softly. Claude licked his lips, slowly turning with Ezekiel in his arms, arms trailing over his slim body and helping him shrug out of his clothes. Ezekiel's own cock was hard and waiting and beautiful, and Claude only gave one last look to make sure his lover was willing before he moved forward, tongue lapping at soft thigh and trailing its way upwards, to his awaiting shaft, one hand holding his legs lightly apart, the other one moving to knead soft sacs and then slowly trailing further downwards.

The drifter had tossed back his head, all soft skin and soft cries, silver and gold in the lamplight through the windows. Fingers knotted Claude’s hair, unspoken approval, and—  
Fingers traced his hole. The blonde might have mistaken Ezekiel’s inhalation for a sign of pleasure if the boy hadn’t followed it by immediately clamping shut his legs. Claude jerked back—ALL the way back. The boy winced.  
“S-Sorry, sorry. There, bad.”  
A hand cupped Claude’s own, drew him back to the drifter’s sex.  
“Here, good.” A whimper, Ezekiel rubbing into his warmth.

Claude didn't move immediately, tense. Eyes met Ezekiel's unsure.  
"…Are you sure?" The drifter winced at his hesitation.  
"Y-yes, I want, I choose Claude, yes?" Claude hesitated but then began moving, slowly, hesitantly, not wanting to be rejected a third time. Ezekiel was also tense at Claude's obvious reluctance. And oh, well, he was obviously not getting laid tonight and had already been pushed away twice but he'd be damned if he ever left a lover unsatisfied! Hand left cock to trace his thighs as he leaned forward again and dipped between those legs—the closest he would get to his objective. Still, Claude held back a sad sniffle and got to work, kissing and lapping and suckling his way to Ezekiel's heat, the drifter's tenseness melting away as he finally reached the core of his pleasure, mouthing his name, warm breath washing over flushed skin before he took him in.

There.  
The drifter’s voice was a better melody than the ones they danced together across the keys. Although not all the misgivings were gone, Claude felt far more at peace. This at least the boy wanted beyond doubt, this he could give, this touch they could share. His own desires for more—involved—intimacy were forgotten in the joy of the moment, Claude inching and teasing and guiding his lover to release. Ezekiel had done well. Claude did far better. A damn near deity of delights, he preened to himself, and his dearest came in his mouth in very short order.  
And then—shittt! Claude rolled to his side and tried not to look tragically morbid as he took his sweetling with him, kneading Ezekiel’s back absently as the drifter hiccuped and trembled in after glow.  
“Claude.”  
“Claude!”  
Claude blinked, dismal musings interrupted by Ezekiel’s raising voice. The boy head butted his chest softly when he finally looked at him.  
“Claude.”  
“Ezekiel?”  
Silence. The blonde could feel slow breaths against his chest.  
“Bad man... hurt. But I...”  
Ezekiel raised his face.  
“I trust you.”  
And then slowly, deliberately he turned, flexing his back and lowering his head to the mat, offering Claude his body.

Claude bit back a moan of absolute bliss at the sight. His beautiful Ezekiel, bent over before him, offering himself so willingly and tempting him so after he had resolved to behave.  
"A-Are… a-are you sure, Kitten?" Ezekiel nodded, and who was he to deny his love the pleasures of the flesh he so desired. Trembling, he got up, hands settling on Ezekiel's sides, slowly sliding up towards his hips, stroking the soft skin there with his thumb. Ezekiel shivered, face pressed against the pillows beneath. Oh, do not fear, Ezekiel, for you will love every second of it and beg for more, he thought to himself.  
Ezekiel felt warmth. Like before, the soft mist of Claude's breath washing over his skin, the only warning before Claude pushed forward, face buried against his lover's softness, tongue tracing circles over an awaiting entrance before prodding easily in, wet and slick, a hand moving beneath the drifter to hold and stroke his weeping cock.

Ezekiel made no obscene sound of pleasure as Claude raided his hole. There was only silence, and tension.  
Enough so that Claude once again found himself in the confused valley between do or don’t. His caresses had been restrained, a beginner’s course, and he slowed them even more now as he sought to read Ezekiel’s mood.  
He got his answer. No wanton delight, but a relaxing, the boy’s muscles unknotting, his shoulders drooping into the pillows.  
Trust, the drifter had told him, over and over. He said it now without words, and Claude swore he’d repay it.  
A more curious probing, getting the taste of him, long slow laps that matched long slow strokes of his hand. Ezekiel grunted and his shoulders pulled together. A good sign. Claude nuzzled the soft globes of his ass and pushed deeper, faster, quick strong flicks of his tongue.  
“C-Claude!” Ezekiel wheezed, toes twisting in the sheets, cock twitching in the man’s hand.

There we go! Claude thought as he pushed as deeply into the boy as he could go, giving him one last thorough lap before he pulled back, only slightly, replacing tongue with a single finger. He ran gentle circles around his entrance before slowly entering. Ezekiel whimpered, tensing up, but Claude was slow and patient, moving carefully within him, working to slowly widen him up. And soon enough, Ezekiel began relaxing, the pitch of his cries filling with pleasure, his back arching and hips beginning to buck shyly as he pushed as second finger in, stroking something deep inside the drifter. Ezekiel gasped as the fingers were removed, but rather than move atop him, Claude pulled him onto his lap, kissing his flustered lover as he stroked his back. When they pulled apart, the man nuzzled his soft hair, taking Ezekiel's hand in his and intertwining their fingers.  
"Ezekiel... I want you… I need you. Can we become one?"

Even in the dim light, Claude could see Ezekiel’s eyes widen. Excitement? Or fear?  
“Claude...”  
The blonde could feel the sweat beading on his skin. What god had he offended to deserve this torture?! If the drifter asked he’d—get off—and crawl to the bathroom—and die—  
“Love?”  
Faintly. A whisper. The word he had told him, echoed as a question, and abruptly Claude understood that the emotion on his face was so much more than this.

Oh Ezekiel, sweet sweet Ezekiel. Do you want to kill me? The thoughts echoed in his head but did not part his lips. Instead, something else. He pulled Ezekiel's hand to his lips and lay a loving kiss upon his soft fingers.  
"Yes, love. Would you let me love you, Ezekiel?" He whispered, voice thick with his need.

Abruptly Ezekiel averted his face.  
Claude remembered the first time they had done this. The dull skepticism in those aged emerald eyes. Evidence of inner wounds he’d tried so much to heal.  
His hands reached for the drifter, hesitated, frightened of causing fright.  
“Yes.”  
And Ezekiel twisted back around, and his eyes were bright with tears, but there was joy in them.  
“Y-Yes!”  
And he threw himself into Claude’s arms, sobbing and laughing both.  
“Yes, yes, yes!”  
He pressed his lips to Claude’s—clumsy, unsure. As if he were virgin. The blonde’s heart stuttered and he returned the kiss with a delicacy of affection that belied the raging need inside.  
Then the drifter was pulling back—more laughter, wiping away tears. His hands pressed to Claude’s shoulders, pushing himself up on his knees, an unsteady wobble over Claude’s heat.  
“To... t-together?” His eyes fixed to his, awaiting, ready.

Oh Ezekiel was a thing of beauty, both inside and out. His shy movements, the way he looked up at him and asked, those tender tears—Claude was DYING for him! And yet he would never dare to give in to his most basal needs, not when it could possibly destroy the tenderness he so craved from the drifter. Shaking, he nuzzled him, fingers tracing slowly up and down his sides as he panted.  
"A-ah, yes, Ezekiel, t-together," he managed somehow, keeping his voice smooth, showing confidence where he was desperate. Ezekiel smiled and leaned forward, and Claude did as well to accept his kiss, drawing him closer as those rose thighs lowered the drifter onto his awaiting heat. Ezekiel hesitated as the head of his cock came to rest against his entrance, wincing, and Claude couldn't help but shake and groan into their kiss despite his best attempts to restrain himself. But at that Ezekiel's shivers subsided and, slowly, hesitantly, he began lowering himself again. He'd prepared him most thoroughly, his entrance slick and ready to accept him, and although Ezekiel was tense, his cock slowly slid in, until he was sealed in warm tight flesh.

Everything in Claude’s instincts, his experience, his entire state of existence screamed for him to thrust and fuck and scratch the terrible itch eating him up inside.  
Instead, he stayed quite still.  
The drifter’s breaths were slow but unsteady, adjusting. Claude could feel every taut little muscle as it eased. His young lover shifted experimentally and Claude constrained a hiss at the delight.  
“Ezekiel.”  
One word, all he could manage, deep. Ezekiel burrowed his head into his shoulder and nodded. Yes—yes to what, he only half knew. But he trusted him.

He leaned back to ease some of his tension and also to keep himself from pitching forward to pin his beloved beneath him. Hands, still trembling, caressed down Ezekiel’s sides to reach his hips. In his state, he would have much preferred it if the drifter had been the one to move. Then there would be no way he could make a mistake and bounce his cute lover a little too energetically. But ah, for Ezekiel, he would resist! Hands lifted him up, then lowered him, slowly setting up a gentle pace. And Ezekiel, sweet Ezekiel, moaned quietly against his chest, hands curling into his clothes. Claude licked his lips hungrily and began moving his hips as well in time, grinding, shifting, gently and carefully prodding the deepest trenches of his beloved’s heat.  
“A-ah Ezekiel,” he mewled,  
Leaning forward to nuzzle at his face and seek a loving kiss from his warm lips.

Ezekiel answered that kiss with his own. Brief but brilliant, burning, like a fire in the sky. So hot it sizzled along Claude’s cheeks.  
Ah, he was BLUSHING! Damn it, Claude, you’re the professor of passion, why are YOU the one turning red?! But there was no denying it, and Claude was grateful his beloved’s eyes stayed mostly closed.  
Ezekiel’s breath hitched and his fingers hooked tighter in Claude’s clothes as he began to move in time with his lover’s thrusts. Claude did his best not to shriek.

He was so focused on trying to RESTRAIN himself that he had not an ounce of strength to spare on actually making love to his beloved. The pleasure of his warm flesh, the joy at finally conquering that which he had for so long worked for—Oh it reduced him to a mumbling amateur, rocking his hips in and out and clinging to Ezekiel while he moaned his name. Thankfully that seemed to be everything that was needed of him by the time, if the warm, wet hardness bumping against his belly repeatedly was any sign. And for now, Claude was content. No shows of grandeur, no focusing on seducing, just the warmth of the other and his loving cries for him. He cupped the drifter's face again, stroking his rosy cheeks with trembling thumbs.  
"Ezekiel… E-Ezekiel, I love you." Ezekiel's eyes widened, wet with tears as he moved forward to kiss him, the drifter kissing him back. And then trembling in his hold, warm and went against his belly and tight and constricting around him. A few more rapid thrust as his beloved was overcome with bliss and Claude was over the edge himself, groaning in pleasure as he ground against him. He regained himself faster then his lover, stroking and nuzzling, purring happily, still hard inside him as he rocked slowly.

As for Ezekiel... ah.  
Claude’s motions slowed. His young paramour had nested himself against the crook of his arm, breathing slowing instead of surging back to life. Sleepy already?! Oh no! Oh NO!  
A mumble against his chest.  
“I love you, Claude.”  
The sensation of a smile on his skin.

A single tear slid down Claude’s cheek as he slowly leaned back to lay down on the bed without disturbing the drifter in his arms. It was filled with both immeasurable happiness and unending misery. For oh, his precious Ezekiel looked so cute and felt so good and he was DYING to keep pumping into him but at the same tine he looked so adorable the last thing he wanted was to disturb him! An experimental wiggle of his hips saw Ezekiel stirring ever so slightly and confirming Claude’s deepest fears. How cruel! To give him a taste of what he had so wanted—and take it away so fast. Still... still... at least he had the comfort of being able to remain inside him! With that last reassurance to himself, and Ezekiel held securely in his arms, Claude did his best to fall asleep and cut his torture short. Perhaps his dreams would bring a sweeter ending.

And so they did—perhaps aided in part by their continued connection. Did Claude make love to Ezekiel in his sleep? Possibly. Impossible to say. At any rate it wasn’t INTENDED and thus he was guiltless of any crime, grumbling contently in his dreams as his lover thumped rhythmically against him. Up and down, up and down, up and down—so strongly, mmm!  
“Ezekiel,” Claude murmled, eyes flickering open. OH! The drifter WAS thrusting against him—ah, no, wait—  
“Ezekiel!”  
Claude had only just reached for the little thing when the seizure stopped, green eyes snapping back into focus, panting. And then yelling urgent nonsense at him.  
“English, Ezekiel, ENGLISH!”  
“Brother—brother at market—now, now now now NOW!” The drifter shrieked, buzzing with excitement. He threw himself off the bed a second later, bulleting around looking for clothes.  
“Ezekiel—Ezekiel alright—to the shower first, okay? I’ll wake up the others and get them ready—no buts, there’s still time, we can’t do this alone!” He said, grabbing the drifter by his shoulders and ushering him into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sigh. Couldn’t that ‘premonition’ have come up a little later? Preferably after he and Ezekiel had had a relaxing warm bath together, another sensual sealing of their bodies... with one last sigh he left Ezekiel’s clothes folded up on the bed and took his own to another bathroom. He passed by the room Prince had stolen and banged loudly.  
“Get ready you two, we’re going to the market.”   
Some dubious moaning answered him, but for now it would have to do.


	6. Chapter 6

He heard Ezekiel’s echoing voice just as he was finishing dressing up, calling for him. And he stepped out just in time to catch him.  
“Market!”  
“Yes, yes we’re going—oh those two bastards, they’re still not out?”   
He walked to their door and heard snoring. Like how he imagined a bear would snore but definitely snoring. He hissed, fumbling with his keys and unlocking the door before he threw it open.  
“I said—oh... oh my... is that? Is it? Can I t-t-t--”   
He felt Ezekiel nudging his way by his side and coughed, hastily covering the drifter’s eyes. The commotion woke Prince, who sat up and yawned, rubbing at his eyes.  
“Wha? You’re so noisy, it’s too early for this, go back to sleep.”  
He murmured, settling back down upon Junior’s chest.  
Ezekiel whined again but chose to press against Claude’s side rather than press through. Affection and annoyance and lust all mixed in the man’s throat; he shoved most of these down and barked.  
“Get up! We have to go to the market, right now. Ezekiel’s family is there!”  
“And you know this how?” Prince inquired, rubbing his eyes without bothering to sit up.  
“Uh... uh, well—“  
Ezekiel chirped something heartbreaking and abruptly Junior sat up, blinking.  
“Prince! We have to go. Ezekiel’s family is at the market.”  
“How do you know that?!”  
“Because Ezekiel is a witch, and he says so,” Junior answered, simply, beginning to pull pants on. Claude licked his lips as a most beautiful sausage was returned to its packaging.  
Prince groaned but dressed half heartedly, and when it was done he pleaded with Junior to carry him pretty please instead of walking himself, purring as the giant picked him up gently in his arms. They were out of the house with Claude barely managing to shove an apple into Ezekiel’s arms for breakfast. Junior and Prince didn’t deserve anything for being greedy, horny hoes who left him out. Hmph! 

When they made it to the market again there was a marked difference. As before, eyes fixed on them. But not really on them. They were fixed on the giant behind him and instead of lust there was some clear wariness and apprehension. Needless to say Claude felt much more safer like this. He held Ezekiel’s hand, stroking his soft hand with his thumb.  
“Where do you want us to go now, Kitten?”  
Ezekiel’s answer was a direction. It was said with such confidence, such purpose, that for a moment Claude almost believed. But not really, hahaha! Witches, of all things! The man’s amusement turned rapidly to worry, however, as his darling dragged him forward. What to say when they inevitably didn’t find his family? Because aside from magic not being real, the odds of his brother still being here were...  
Claude wished again, keenly, that they were still home in the bath instead of on the wretched streets.  
“Here.”  
The blonde started as Ezekiel stopped. They were in a prominent square, merchants clustered in every angle, slaves with empty eyes displayed in rows throughout the center. Ezekiel wasn’t looking at them. He turned from one street to the next, brow furrowed. The array was symmetrical, every direction a mirror of the next, and the crowds of moving souls offered no stable landmark.  
Time ticked by. Junior waited with the humble patience of someone too trusting for their health. Prince yawned. Claude looked down at his increasingly unconfident lover.  
“Kitten?”  
“I... I...”  
A sudden scream. Four heads jerked up—ALL heads jerked up—turning towards the street from whence it came. Voices rose like bursts, the crowd rippling. A man broke free of the crowd before them and ran past. Then another. A third.   
Someone sturdier than Claude grabbed a fourth as they tried to speed by, shaking them.  
“What the hell’s happening?”  
The desperate bastard tried to squirm free, but a more forceful manhandling achieved an answer.  
“Killing—oh God, they’re killing—they just started—“  
“Who’s killing?!”  
“The soldiers—attacked everyone—everyone but the DAMN drifters!”  
With that the man wrested free and scattered. Ezekiel watched, wide eyed.  
“O-kay, time to go!” Claude stuttered, reaching for his kitten. Ezekiel danced out of his range and stared back the way the man had come.

The slaves had been silent, watching. They were still silent now. Except for one.  
“Mala.”  
The slaves shifted. Chains clicked on dry ground.  
“Mala.”  
A moan. A prayer.  
“Mala.”  
“Mala.”  
“Mala!”  
A chant, rising cries, shackles raising and shaking on their wrists.  
“Mala! Mala! Mala!”  
More screams from the direction of the unknown, louder, numerous, closer. Ezekiel was stiff. He knew that cry, and that power.  
“Ezekiel,” Claude begged. Ezekiel shuddered. And then he wrenched himself around and raced to Claude’s arms.  
“Run.”  
And one did not need to be a ‘witch’ to know that running was the right choice in this situation. Running was one thing Claude could do very well. Without a second thought he snatched the smaller drifter into his arms and shot away from the commotion, his high heels clacking against the toad stones but not slowing him down at all. He hoped both Junior and Prince were smart enough to follow but if they didn’t—oh well Junior was freaking HUGE! They’d surely be alright!  
Needn’t have worried! Claude WHOOMPHED the air from his lungs as thick arms tossed him up, Junior scooping both him and Ezekiel in close and barreling onward. Others were beginning to follow suit, cries of panic breaking out as independent breakaways began to surge into terrified masses.   
Even carrying all three of them, Junior was faster than most. They surged along at the front of the crowd and were halfway home before they hit a roadblock.  
Soldiers—tight, organized blocks of them—marching forward. Ezekiel hissed and shouted something at Junior, and the man swerved around and into the nearest store.  
“Ezekiel,” Claude started, panicked.  
“Shhh!” Ezekiel hissed again, sharper. They were in a clothing store, frightened staff scrambling about. Junior ignored them all and shoved into the first dressing stall, door clicking closed behind them.  
“Shh,” Ezekiel repeated as Junior pressed Prince and Claude beneath him, “shh.”  
Any protests were silenced by more screams and sounds of breaking from outside. Claude attempted to pull Ezekiel close but the drifter sidestepped him, simply resting a hand reassuringly on his arm.  
Every moment was agony. But heartbeat by heartbeat the noises faded. Ezekiel slipped out of the room, despite Claude’s hushed protests, and returned pale but steady.  
“Safe. We go.”  
Junior stirred. Claude did not.  
“Safe. Go NOW,” Ezekiel repeated, urgent, tugging at his arm.  
Claude looked up at him. His kitten was insistent, sure of himself.  
I’m trusting my life to a drifter who thinks he has magical powers.  
But it was quiet outside. Claude stood and encouraged Prince up, and the three of them followed Ezekiel outside.  
The street was thick with bodies. Claude’s pupils dilated and Prince whimpered. Junior hovered close behind them as they moved towards home. First slow, numb, then breaking into a desperate race.

The scene changed. No more bodies. Soldiers. One of them grabbed Claude but at a look at his dazed face and Ezekiel’s collar they allowed them to pass. The world was quieter past the blockade. Too quiet. Fearful eyes peered out from windows. Groups of military men tramped past, wordless.   
Mostly. Occasional whispers as they passed, citizens asking questions. Bits and pieces of the story. Merchants turning feral, killing one another. Soldiers who came to help going the same. Slaughtering all but the drifters. Then the carnage ended as abruptly as it had started, the murderers confused and without memory, the slaves all vanished without a word.  
They reached Claude’s house and huddled in in hushed silence. Claude double locked the door behind them. All four drifted to the kitchen table, wordless, lost, sitting there without looking at one another.  
Ezekiel was the first to speak. In his own tongue, looking away. Junior listened, head tilted, then translated.  
“Ezekiel says his uncle did this. His uncle is a witch too. Anyone he looks at, he can control. He made the soldiers free the slaves. Ezekiel says his brother is with him.”  
Claude didn't stir. He kept staring at nothing, quiet, unmoving. Ezekiel moved closer, slender fingers resting tentatively against the blond.  
"C-Claude?" The man stirred at that, finally, looked at him, looked at all the others.  
"W-what… w-what?! A witch—no, they must have… poisoned the food, the water, something—we could have died in there. Prince and I could have died!"  
Ezekiel shuddered. His fingers contracted and then removed themselves from Claude’s entirely.   
“N-No. I—never—no—“  
He turned to Junior, once again relaying complexities beyond his English. The man had been sitting quietly with Prince nestled in his arms. He listened and translated in the same solemn tone as always.  
“Ezekiel will not put you in danger, and I will not let Prince be put in danger. Ezekiel says he will find another way to find his family, without putting you in danger.”  
Claude buried his face in his hands and groaned.  
“You just did! We were put in danger! Right now! I’m not going back there ever again and—oh my god what if they followed us here?!” Claude got up suddenly, chair falling backwards as a moment later he rushed to the windows, looking out nervously before he began drawing all the curtains close.  
“Come on Claude it’s alright, I’m sure they’ll be thankful we kept Zeke safe for them!”  
“Oh you think that don’t you? Do you think they would have stopped to ask that before or after we were DEAD at the market! Because that could have been us right there! “  
“Oh no!”  
“And now they’re going to find us and slit our throats in out sleep probably!”  
“Kyaaaa!” Prince nuzzled close to Junior, looking up at him with teary eyes.  
“Y-you won’t let them do that to us will you Junior? Please tell them we are good!”  
“Never,” Junior said, firmly, tucking his head down to nuzzle the little thing in his arms. In contrast, Ezekiel recoiled further and further from where Claude had sat, breathing audibly strained even as he pushed his head between his elbows. He started violently as he was touched, looking up to Junior, softly rubbing his back.   
“Ezekiel didn’t know. He didn’t mean to put you in danger.”  
That was no translation, at least not of spoken word. It was simple interpretation. Junior looked up at Claude, in doing so remaining blissfully oblivious of how Prince was bristling.  
“I do not think we will be followed here. There are too many soldiers.”  
Claude looked between Junior and Ezekiel, looking uneasy, but didn't answer the man's words. When he finally looked away he did so silently as he busied himself locking and covering every window and door in his house despite the drifter's reassurance. When he was done he kept himself busy, going to the kitchen and making breakfast. The sweet smell of spices, toast, bacon and egg drew Prince out, who tugged along Junior and Ezekiel. He set the latter's plate in front of him, looking at him expectantly.  
And Ezekiel looked up at him. And, well, damn—that face was one Claude had no choice but to forgive. His kitten had become a puppy, suitably ashamed of past misbehavior, wide-eyed with hope at the chance of redemption. He reached for the plate.  
Good boy.  
And paused, abruptly, suddenly apprehensive, staring at Claude and then his plate.  
Oh don’t you fucking dare! But the drifter DID dare, and promptly ate everything except the eggs, into the fluffy masses of which Claude had mixed Ezekiel’s powdered medicine. To further crush any thought that he was just planning to eat the eggs last, Ezekiel pushed the plate gingerly away.  
And oh he definitely did NOT forgive him! The little bastard wasn't regretful of what he'd done at all!  
Claude's frown deepened.  
"You don't really care at all, do you?" Ezekiel winced—Prince snatched the plate from between the both of them.  
"Well can't let good food go to waste!" And that being said, he promptly devoured all of Ezekiel's leftovers, his own plate already clean. Claude let out a long suffering sigh and turned away, fetching a jug of milk from the fridge and settling it on the counter after having his own fix, walking away. Ezekiel watched him, trembling—but Junior distracted him, pouring out a glass for him while him and Prince drank their own. The drifter looked down at the glass, sniffled, and began drinking. On the other side of the room, back turned to them, the corners of Claude's mouth twitched upwards.

With that out of the way, Claude’s mood markedly improved. Ezekiel’s did not. The drifter hunched in on himself until he was just a little bundle of fabric, offering only weak answers to Junior’s attempts, despite Prince’s protests, to draw him into conversation. It was a truly pathetic sight.  
No! Don’t give in! No rewards for bad behavior!   
Claude turned his mind from his kitten to other matters, such as security and admiring Junior’s physique. Ezekiel slid off the chair and went to stand miserably in the corner. At one point it looked like he was praying. Crazy little heathen.   
Prince launched into a babble about how scary the day had been and about how glad he was to have Junior and his big muscles around and Claude slipped right in, agreeing with all of Prince’s praises and even working his way to getting to touch Junior’s biceps. In the Corner of Sad Ezekiel suddenly startled up, eyes wide. Whatever revelation he’d had (please not another HOLY revelation) seemed to have soothed him, the drifter easing back over and at least sharing their company, eyes running around invisible musings inside his head. Claude was becoming more suspicious of his sudden change by the second when the door thundered.  
“Oh dear God RUN!” Claude shrieked, grabbing Ezekiel as Junior seized Prince, but before they could flee what was certainly inevitable mysterious drifter death, the banging was matched by a voice.  
“Claude?! Claude, are you in there?! Open up!”  
A familiar, panicked, SEXY voice.  
Claude came to a halt, turning towards the door.  
"R-Raphy?" Ezekiel tensed in his arms at the mention of the doctor's name and he remembered then he was holding the drifter, turned back where he was going and ushered all three of his visitors inside the closest guestroom and hissed quietly  
"S-stay here!" before closing the door and speeding to his front door, yanking it open.  
“Claude! CLAUDE!”  
And then Raphael was on him with such exuberance that Claude toppled to his ass, the doctor rolling his face across his chest and hair and howling.  
“Oh God, Claude, I heard about—I thought—oh God, I’m so glad you’re safe!”  
Here at last the man pulled back; to Claude’s surprise, his eyes were watering.  
“I mean, I know you don’t care about me, but I still care about YOU, you know!”  
For a second Claude was still and quiet, staring down at the doctor. His own eyes began to water. A moment later he'd pulled him close, burying his face in his hair.  
Oh, Raphael, Raphael—he could have been there, he could have DIED as well!  
"A-All those people, the screams… we hid but… I'd never seen so much blood, and the dead!" He pulled away then, looked into his friend's eyes. They stared back, dead, unseeing, face covered in blood—he winced at the intrusive thought and looked away, trembling.  
"R-Raphael… I'm afraid."  
“Hey, hey, hey,” Raphael soothed, pulling him close, and oh God how much Claude had missed this. He closed his eyes and let the other hold him. To be the protected instead of protector—this was what he’d craved, what he’d missed, and he hadn’t known it until now. He trembled and lost himself in the other’s warmth. Raphael ran easy slow circles across his back.  
“Do you want to stay at my place, until things settle? I’ll hire security and I won’t even look at your goofy little boy toy.”  
"Yes—" He'd snapped an agreement as soon as he'd offered, but came to an abrupt pause at the mention of Ezekiel, going quiet and looking downwards.  
"Claude?"  
He looked up again and frowned.   
"No I… I'll go… just me," he said, getting to his feet and moving to the kitchen counter, pulling out a small notepad and writing into it. That he'd be gone, that he was fine, that he'd be back.  
"But, what about your drifter?"  
"He'll be fine. We have… security."  
"…Aren't you worried they'll run away?" Claude looked up, towards the bedroom where he'd put them all away.  
He thought of the screaming, the running, the drifters chanting. Ezekiel refusing his medicine, a statement to his continued search for his family despite confirmation that they were alright. That finding them could put the rest at risk. And when he did find them, he would leave, wouldn't he?  
"….Maybe it's better that way." He moved to Raphael, taking him by the hand and walking out of the house with him, taking nothing but his coat and his best friend as he left the house.

It was a long while before those left behind emerged.  
Junior went first—suspicious—huge head rattling back and forth as he glared in all directions. When he was sure all was safe he let his two smaller charges emerge beside him. It was Ezekiel who first found the note, but Prince who read it, and Junior who translated it.  
Prince yowled and flung himself dramatically to the floor.  
“I can’t BELIEVE this! He has me, the most precious house guest ever, and ABANDONS me?! For RAPHY?! Ugh Claude, this is why you were always just a fling!”  
Prince paused mid-dramatic-gesture as something terrifying came to mind. He leapt up and sprinted to the cabinet, tossing them open. FOOD! Food for days—weeks—the same in the ice box! They were saved! They could eat and fuck and sleep the day away until stupid Claude came back and begged for forgiveness!  
As Prince pranced around, Ezekiel stayed huddled close by the note. Junior stood near him, comforting and solid.  
“I did this.”  
Ezekiel, soft, in his own tongue. Junior shook his head.  
“No, gifted one. The ashen chose this. He does not listen or believe. It is not your fault. And...”  
Junior glanced around and coughed.  
“He is a crazy man of ill reputation, I am glad he is gone, for a little while.”  
Ezekiel’s response was silence. Junior patted him lightly before joining Prince, scooping his lover up and twirling him around before joining him in examining the stockpiles.  
Prince was cheerfully instructing him in the VERY COMPLEX art of sandwich making when Junior looked up. Ezekiel was heading towards the doorway, stance resolved.  
“Mala?”  
“I... I’m going to find my family.”  
“It is dangerous to go alone, Ezekiel. I will—“ Junior started, but stopped, looking down. Prince was too engrossed in mixing up his tuna to have even registered the conversation. Junior’s brow creased. The law told him to protect the Mala, but it was not all he wished to protect.  
“No.”  
“Mala?”  
“I’ve seen my future. I haven’t seen yours. Stay here, be safe. I’ll find my family, and... return. In time.”  
Junior’s face wrinkled further, but his dislike for the prospect conceded to his trust in the Mala’s wisdom. He bowed his head. Ezekiel nodded in answer and headed for the door.  
He paused with his hand on the handle.  
He had seen Claude, before Claude had seen him. In his visions, holding him close. What he had guessed was rape had been something else entirely. It was a second sight that had shown that to him, that had made him trust. A vision of him and Claude together, not as captor and captive but as one, in the park, in the sun. Peace... love.  
The exact circumstances of that dream had yet to come to pass—something Ezekiel had realized while he’d despaired over how to find his family without hurting the one he now longed to stay beside. He could search for his family—hopefully find them, let them know he was safe. And then...  
Return to Claude? Yes. When, he didn’t know. But his dreams had told him. His future was certain.  
It was only a matter of time—and in between.  
Yet SO MUCH could happen in between.  
Another moment’s hesitation, and Ezekiel rummaged through the closet beside the entryway. He found what he was looking for, and donned it. The collar Claude had given him. If caught, better to be runaway property than a runaway without an owner.  
One last breath, one last hint of Claude’s smell on all the coats, and then he was put into the night.

Raphael’s first stop was, sadly, not to take Claude to the nearest back alley and screw him. Rather it was to a freelance security firm, which Claude admittedly could appreciate, if not quite as much as sex. Demand had—unsurprisingly—skyrocketed since that morning, but Raphael had more than enough money to sway a few burly men to his cause.   
With that settled, the guards were deposited at the servant’s quarters and then—finally—the two were alone inside Raphael’s mansion.  
“Well,” Raphael started, but there wasn’t much to say. Instead he threw himself at Claude and Claude threw himself back, lips locking and hands running ravenously across each other’s flesh.  
The doctor pressed him against the wall, bumping against a table, and Claude clung to him and drew him closer with a needy desperation that Raphael had never felt in him before. It awoke an appetite in him that was normally reserved for others. Teeth caught on skin as fingers worked to tug and pull clothes off, sampling and marking. Raphael fucked him in the foyer, the living room, the hallway—all the way to the bedroom, until they finally fell exhausted against the mattress, sweat slicked bodies pressed to one another as they panted. Beneath Raphael, Claude stared at the ceiling, quiet, and then...  
“Raphael... do you love me?”  
And Raphael blinked and drew back from him, staring a moment. Claude continued to look vacantly at air.  
“Claude? Did I hit your head against the wall or something?”  
Shit, was he CRYING? Raphael pushed himself close, nuzzling at him.  
“Of course I love you! I mean, don’t expect me to propose or anything, but I’d be very sad if you died. I want you to live to the ripe old age of no longer beautiful and then die peacefully in your sleep of genital herpes. That’s love, right?”  
Claude continued to look pathetic. Raphael sighed.  
“Why are you asking this? Owning a sex slave not all you were hoping it’d be?"  
Claude winced at his words, lifting a hand to rub at his temple—and wiping away a few stray tears in the process.  
"I almost died today and your dick is still in my ass. The least you could do is pretend for a second." He reached out, pushing the doctor off of him only to change positions, sheathing himself inside him instead in one slick motion. Raphael arched beneath, gasping. Claude drew close and hissed.  
"Stop talking about other men while I'm fucking you, doctor, it's very rude of you."   
The sudden change was confusing, but he'd be lying if he said the fast pace that Claude had set up in his ass wasn't pleasing, and instead of confronting him Raphael let the blond take him. One more round, two, three, and then he was finally truly exhausted, passing out from exhaustion beneath his lover. But even after all their lovemaking Claude could not sleep. His eyes remained awake, staring at the wall beyond.   
He thought he'd find what he'd been looking for in Raphael's arms but… they'd fucked endlessly, and yet he still felt like there was something missing, like there was something else he needed. No, someone. Through it all, he kept thinking of Ezekiel. He was screwed, figuratively and literally. He was wasting his time here. He slid off the bed effortlessly, the doctor still asleep upon the mattress while Claude gathered his clothes across the house and dressed.

That was when he heard it. It was so soft he almost missed it. It was… sobbing. He knew what it was immediately. After all, Raphael could not stop talking for one second about his damned sex slaves. He told himself to just pick the rest of his clothes and go but…it sounded so much like Ezekiel. And like a siren song, the sound drew him closer, one step after another, until he reached a small closed door. It wasn't even locked, and as he pushed it open he could see why. A bed, and a soft pale body strewn over it, tied down, wrists and ankles rubbed almost raw where the shackles touched skin. Claude's throat knotted. Raphael had mentioned the color of his hair but this—he didn't look like a drifter at all. It could have been Prince tied up on that bed. He wasn't the one sobbing. Beyond the bed, shackled to a corner, another body, tanned and with inky black hair, scars crisscrossing what skin he could see.  
"E-Ezekiel—" The words left him without thinking, and the drifter looked up. No, not Ezekiel, but so very damn close. What the hell was Raphael doing to him? He felt nauseous at the memory of the man's skin pressed against his own. No, he couldn't leave, not like this.  
He knew where Raphael kept his keys and fetched them, moving through the house like a ghost. He went to the scarred one first, crouching by him. The poor dear winced away from him, trembling like a leaf and trying to disappear against the wall. Just like Ezekiel when he had first met him. He lifted a finger to his lips, signaling silence, then raised the keys to show him. The drifter looked at the keys, then at him. Claude offered a hand, and after hesitating for a second, the drifter took it. He undid his shackles, tried to help him up. The poor thing was too weak to, falling back against the floor without his support. He could carry him out but… His eyes strayed to the other unmoving body upon the bed.

Claude shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around him before repeating the motions for silence and gesturing at him to also stay. He wasn't gone for long. The doctor kept a wheelchair to move around his physically impaired patients through his hospital, and Claude knew where he kept it. They'd fucked on it a few times.  
Ever so carefully he picked the drifter up—some of his wounds were still fresh. Then, finally he turned to the other. If not for the rise and fall of his chest, he would have thought him dead. He touched his shoulder, nudging him softly, trying to calmly shake him awake. No answer.  
He had half a mind to leave him there, but as he turned away, the other drifter was looking at him. Oh, damn it all. He undid his chains as well, picking him up and setting him down on the chair with the other, and then he gripped the handlebars and…

Was he really sure he wanted to do this? There would be no coming back from this. No regaining the doctor's trust, no open arms waiting for him when he needed them. But what was the alternative? Set the drifters back down, pretend he hadn't seen anything, and then know day after day of the horrors the man was doing behind closed doors? Could he even ever lay in his arms again, knowing what he now knew?

The fortune he'd spent on security was wasted. He heard the mens' snoring as he passed their room, letting the door click softly closed behind him as he exited his friend's house.

It was likely the last time he ever would.


	7. Chapter 7

The streets were quiet and empty and cold, and he trembled without his coat as he walked hastily forward.

Everyone had opted to stay in that night, some going as far as to board up their windows, doors locked, and while it left the place looking like a ghost town, Claude was thankful for the lack of witnesses. It didn't take long to go where he was heading. He avoided the front door, going in through the back—glad to find the old key still under a brick by the wall. It had been years since he'd last visited the Blanche manor. By now the servants were asleep, but the real challenge came from pulling the chair and the two drifters upstairs, towards the bedrooms.

He was just edging towards one of the rooms when he heard a noise, paused, grimaced. Oh gods really Dylan? It was three in the morning! Then again…he couldn't quite talk. He rolled his eyes and went on. The drifter moved for the first time as he was ushered into a bedroom, tensing, whimpering. He moved to him, took his hand in his and crouched before him, looking worried.  
"Shh, shh, no it's alright Kitten—I mean…" He winced at his own slip, looking downwards.   
"It's alright. You are safe here… safe… you must be hungry, yes? I'll bring you some food."   
With that he let go of the drifter's hands, moved instead to take the other from the chair. The little thing was so afraid. He picked up the blond's unmoving body and set it on the bed, covering him up with the bedsheets before moving away. He turned back to the one who looked so much like his kitten, offered a smile, gestured again. Silence, food. The little thing shivered, staring wide eyed, and then... a soft nod. With a sigh of relief, Claude closed the door softly and left, going back down to the kitchen. He picked a tray and filled it up with bread, cheese, fruits—and a hefty jug of milk, thinking about whether his old clothes could still be laying around and if they would fit them. He turned to go back upstairs—stopped in his tracks and shrieked and received a shriek back.  
"What the FuUuuU—C-Claude?!" It was all his brother could manage as he stumbled back, hands down, covering his otherwise naked, toned, strapping, beautiful—  
He was snapped back to reality as the older blond hid behind the icebox, hissing.  
"What the fuck are you doing here?!"  
"Well I, um, I…" Even hiding behind the icebox as he was, Claude's eyes strayed downwards, remembering.  
"Eyes up here asshole!"  
"R-right! right haha—Dylan, my dearest brother—I didn't mean to scare you but… I need a favor from you."  
His brother narrowed his eyes at him but… a barked command that he fetch him a robe, and they sat at the kitchen, Claude telling him what had happened—everything, exactly what had happened, starting with his kitten, his near death encounter, and what he'd seen at the doctor's house. He'd left out the sex, but by his gagging and grimacing he knew Dylan could tell. Until, finally, the story had ended with him here, two drifters in the bedroom upstairs. Dylan buried his face in his hands and groaned.  
"Claude the ONLY reason I let you have an allowance is precisely so I don't have to deal with this."  
Claude shrunk down in his seat, looking away.  
"I'm sorry…"  
"….Did anyone see you coming here?"  
"N-no, the streets are empty."  
"Then get them fed and clothed and get out of here before anyone sees you. I'd like to get this done without wasting money on bribing anyone." And with that he was left alone in the kitchen with his food and his thoughts. He carried the tray upstairs, found the black haired drifter had chosen to hide inside the closet while the other remained asleep on the bed. He set the tray down on the floor and left, closing the door again. When he came back he did so with two sets of clothes, found the little drifter ravaging the food he'd brought, freezing at the sight of him. Claude didn't get too close. He set the clothes down, still offering a smile.  
"It's alright, little one, you'll be alright, um…" He wracked his head searching for the words in the drifter's crude language, came up with a few he'd learned in his time with Ezekiel.  
"Safe. Stay. Hide. Friends. Good."  
The drifter whimpered but did nothing more. Claude sighed. There really was nothing else he could do. He stepped away and out the room, closing and locking it behind him. When everything had calmed down, he'd return with Ezekiel and the others, and maybe then they could help the poor thing some more. For now they would be safe here—even if Raphael called him as the thief before authorities, it was a well known fact that the Blanche bastard wasn't welcome upon family grounds. And his brother had enough money and influence that no one would dare question him when he affirmed the same, especially not for a commoner.   
He left the way he'd come, through the backdoor, and ran all the way back home, the first rays of sun touching the sky as he opened the front door.  
"Ezekiel?"  
And nothing, save the song of over-energetic birds outside. It was still early. Ezekiel was probably still asleep.  
How well had his kitten slept? Alone, abandoned, not knowing when his provider would return for him.  
Claude sighed and slid a hand through his hair, locking the door behind him. He was exhausted himself. Would it be alright, to lay close beside his kitten and enjoy these last still hours of the morning? Did he deserve that, when he’d just run off and fucked a man who tortured his kind?  
A sudden noise from the pantry and OH DEAR GOD IT WAS EZEKIEL’S UNCLE COME TO KILL HIM AHHH, AHHHHH—  
Wait, no, no it wasn’t. It was Junior thumping Prince in the entryway. It would’ve been a very appetizing sight if Prince wasn’t worshipfully holding aloft a can of tuna at the same time.  
“Prince, what the fuck?!”  
Prince squeaked and dropped the tin, and Junior yelped and rapidly extracted himself to cower behind a shelf.  
“Don’t fuck near the food, Prince!”  
“Claude, you’ve LITERALLY fucked me in here before!”  
Ughhh, he had no patience for this.   
“Is Ezekiel still sleeping?”  
A simple yes or no would have sufficed. What he wasn’t expecting was the sudden queer look that passed between the two right before they managed to look everywhere but at him.  
Slowly, Claude's eyes widened. A moment later he'd bolted inside the house.  
"Ezekiel? Ezekiel!" No answer, no matter how much or how loudly he called for him. The drifter wasn't in his room, under his bed, inside the closet, or any of the other places he'd looked, and he ran back to the kitchen, snatching Prince up and shaking him.  
"Where is he where did he go?!" Prince squeaked, trying to wiggle away.  
"I-I don't know! Junior said he went to find his family or something!" Claude dropped him, the blond scurrying up to hop onto Junior's protective arms. Claude pulled at his hair and turned to Junior.  
"Why would you let him?! Why did you let him go! You were supposed to PROTECT him! Have you even LOOKED at him?! He will be snatched up—they'll hurt and abuse him—I have to find him—where is he?!"  
Junior, of all things, looked nonplussed. THAT BASTARD.  
“Ezekiel is a Mala. He saw he would safely return. I did not like him going, but he will be alright.”  
Claude almost tugged every single hair off his head while holding back a scream. He hyperventilated for a second, trembling in place, before going very still.  
"Get dressed—get dressed right fucking now we're going to find him right NOW and you'll help or god help me I'll sell you BOTH into the circus!" He snapped, leaving to fetch his coat.

And so it was that at the turn of dawn three miserable bedraggled souls began to tromp up and down every empty street of the city. Eyes watched them from the windows, wondering, and more than one soldier demanded an explanation of them.  
“Just—just TAKING A WALK!” Claude spat, bristling, and if he’d been anyone but who he was he’d have spent the night in jail for it. As it was, the men just rolled their eyes at the endless eccentricities of the Blanche Bastard and let them move along.  
They went, more or less, straight to the slave market. The FORMER slave market. The bodies had been cleared from the streets, but the stains remained. More and more guards began to fix their eyes on them as they hustled along. Claude wanted very badly to be anywhere else—but this was surely where Ezekiel would have gone.  
If he hadn’t already been taken. God God God GOD why the fuck had they let him leave?! Fucking—stupid—seizure-worshiping pagans! When he found him he’d stuff him with enough pills to fix an ELEPHANT’S epilepsy! He’d—  
Come to me.  
Claude straightened, mind going blank. The two trailing behind him stopped.  
“You two go check the alleys ahead. I’ll check back here.”  
Prince took the lead, pulling Junior along and grumbling. Claude turned and walked quietly down the street beside him. All the way to the end, around a corner out of sight, and then he stopped.  
Something moved atop the piles of scrap clogged between the buildings. A someone. If Ezekiel had been thirty years older and filled with hate, it might have been him.  
His eyes remained on him the entire time he made his way down. Soon he was a foot before him and still he stared. Burned.  
“You have my nephew.”  
Confusion, pain in his brain.  
“I did.”  
A snarl, the man slamming him hard enough against the brick to crack something. The strange haze cleared from Claude’s mind.  
“What do you mean, you DID?!”  
Claude's eyes widened in confusion, but as his eyes stared into those red eyes he soon understood all too quickly, chest puffing up to scream because he'd come face to face with DEATH—  
"Silence." A venomous hiss and not a peep escaped his throat, instead tears bubbled up at his eyes.  
"Now answer me!" The man growled, shaking him despite his wincing. Claude closed his eyes and answered as best as he could.  
"H-he left, looking for you—and oh gods if he's not with you then—o-oh gods!" Remembering his reasons to be there brought him enough courage to open his eyes again, grabbing desperately back.  
"We have to find him! He's so small—we have to find him!"  
The man snarled and struck his hand away before refastening his grip on his throat. Claude couldn’t breathe. Of all the drifters in the world this one he might believe had magic, and he was going to kill him with straightforward strangulation.  
“Where did you last see him? When?”  
Claude gargled. The man spat and freed him just enough to gasp for air. Again that fog in his brain and willing obedience.  
“My house—last night—“  
The drifter seemed to be appraising that statement. And still he stared—did he never blink?  
Whatever he was reflecting on, he seemed to have found his answer. His attention focused back on Claude. He... stepped away from him.  
Not that it mattered; Claude couldn’t move. Couldn’t so much as whimper or shit himself as the drifter withdrew a long blade from the folds of his coat.   
He offered it to Claude and, helpless, he took it.  
“Did you hurt my nephew?”  
His voice was the definition of calm and still Claude could feel the rage frothing underneath.  
“N-No—never.”  
“Did you...”  
A few steadying breaths. The man showed his teeth with every spat word.  
“Rape him?”  
“No!”  
And at that, the man blinked. His look of honest confusion was so close to Ezekiel’s that under any other circumstance it would have been endearing.  
It didn’t last. Even as Claude felt his free will returning the man roared and slammed him into the wall again.  
“Then you watched others do it for you! You filthy little limp-dicked child-fucking animal—I’ll send you to the deepest pits of hell piece by fucking PIECE!”  
Claude sobbed in both pain and fear as the man shook him against the wall, doing his best to croak out.  
"N-no, no! W-we were trying to find his b-brother, w-we were here, when the k-killings happened—I just wanted to h-help him."   
The man actually stopped at that, same look on his face.  
"What?"  
"—And also my dick works just fine thank you, I was fucking a man vigorously just last night!"  
A mad dog of a snarl and then a kick to the—  
Claude would have shrieked if the man’s control hadn’t forced him to shut up. He doubled down on the ground clutching his maybe no longer working dick and the bastard man took the opportunity to slam a foot into his back.  
“If you were helping him, why did he run?!”  
Because I was a stupid fucking idiot and left him unsupervised with two even dumber idiots goddamit—  
"B-Because I was s-scared of y-you and d-didn't want to come back, s-so he came by h-himself," he managed through gritted teeth, curling up as best as he could around the offended area.  
The man’s answer was more pressure on his back. This asshole! Nothing like his kitten at all—  
And then he stepped off him just to crouch before his face. Claude’s attention was pulled from his crotch to his throat as the blade from before was traced across it.  
“And why...”  
The knife carved away the finest hint of stubble.  
“Would an Ashen help a Sol? Do, please, tell me your intentions were PURE.”  
Claude sobbed. How could his worst nightmares all come true at the same time. The blade pressed closer, drawing the first drop of blood, and Claude brushed way all thoughts except for Ezekiel, alone and afraid in that alley. Why had he helped him? Besides the fact that he looked adorable and so very pitiable.   
"B-because I could? I-it made him happy and I like to make h-him happy." He opened his eyes and stared at the floor, eyes wet with tears.  
"P-please don't kill me, I just want to make sure he's okay, please, please. We can find him a-and you can leave, b-but I want to know he's alright."  
Silence. Claude closed his eyes and listened to the pound of blood in his ears. Water spotted the alley floor, and the tears were for more than himself.  
And then the knife withdrew. Claude jerked his head up, wide-eyed. The man was staring at him with open distaste. And frustration. Like a cat encountering a situation of which it wasn’t fond.  
“I will search here. You search the main streets where I cannot go. If you find him, bring him here at night.”  
Claude blinked. The old drifter hissed and abruptly jerked him upright, squeezing him against the wall once more. His breath was acid in his ear.  
“Betray us, and I will make your insides outsides.”  
And then... release. The man stepped back and simply watched him, seething like a furnace.  
Claude stood there, whimpering and staring back until the man growled and snapped ‘move!’ Only then did he, although whether he did so by the man’s command or by his own free will he didn’t know.  
He stumbled out of the alley and into the main streets, clutching his hurt shoulder, going nowhere as he stared dazedly forward.  
“Claude! Where have you been?!” He looked up. It was Prince, with Junior tagging along behind him, and as they drew closer he had never felt happier to see anyone in his life. The tears rose to his eyes unbidden, and he pulled Prince closer and broke down in his arms. The blond looked uncertain, but patted his back nonetheless.  
“Oh Claude, don’t cry! I’m sure we’ll find him soon enough, safe and sound!”

They didn’t.  
As commanded, Claude returned to sweep the streets around his home. He explained his choice to his companions by way of a hunch and said he’d slipped when pressed about his shoulder. They looked and looked and looked and found NOTHING.  
Ezekiel was going to die hurt and scared and alone and then his uncle would come and kill him for it. Maybe he deserved it. He did deserve it. Why had he left him alone?  
I love you.  
Many had said those words to him. Only one had ever made him want to say it back.  
It was dark. Aside from the impairment to their search and the risk of what lurked outside at night, Claude began to hope that Ezekiel might have just gone home. He was smart, surely he recognized the uselessness of a night search as much as them. Maybe he’d gone back to safety and security for the night. Maybe he was right there waiting, wondering worriedly where they were.  
Maybe it was that glimmer of hope that made Claude oblivious. He pushed into his home without recognizing the door he’d left locked was unlocked. Junior and Prince were still a hundred yards behind him, less enthusiastic, and he stepped into the house alone—  
Rough hands grabbed him, threw him across the room. A fist to his face. Pinned down, forced to his knees, hand over his mouth.  
And Raphael standing before him, two other thugs at his side. His friend’s face was raw with rage and tears.  
“You piece of shit. You piece of filthy maggot SHIT. I saved your little whore, I ran to your side when you were afraid, I offered you security and comfort. I was the one who took you in when your father threw you out. And this is how you repay me? Where is he, Claude. Where IS. HE.”  
Blood dripped from his nose to patter onto the floor, his head hung. Claude whimpered. Misery after misery fell upon him, and all because he had left—this was all his punishment for leaving. Betraying Ezekiel, betraying Raphael.  
Wide red eyes and stitched up skin. No, no, no.  
He lifted his head and looked up, staring into Raphael’s eyes.  
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about-“ a sharp kick to the stomach and he heaved, sobbing in pain at both the hurt of the hit and the pain in his shoulder, sobbing. He crumpled down against the floor and cried.  
“P-please...”  
“I wish I could believe that. I wish I could fucking believe that!”  
Raphael was shaking, nails digging red furrows into his skin, face scrunching back the sobs.  
“You were my friend! You were my ONLY friend! And you took everything from me! Hit him again!”  
Another blow to his ribs, Claude squawking, rolling in agony across the ground.  
“Give him to me or I’ll fucking—“  
The door slammed open. Raphael and his guards looked up to Junior towering in the doorway. The drifter’s face furrowed.  
One of the men cursed and pulled a knife. He cursed again more emphatically when Junior hurled the nearest man at him like a sports ball. The third guard backed away. Junior thumped his chest and bellowed like an enormously sexy gorilla.  
“Leave, before I curse you all!”  
“It’s the Bloody Witch!” One of the men screamed, hysterical, and the other two blanched. Raphael roared with far less force than Junior had.  
“He’s lying you stupid fucks! Stab him! He’s just a fucking—“  
The guards were already stumbling out the back door. Raphael screamed and turned towards Claude. Junior stepped between the two and growled.  
The doctor shook a moment longer before turning to race after the others.  
And on the floor, trembling, Claude lay where he was dropped like so much garbage. A moment later Prince stomped in, spitting leaves.  
“Junior how could you-!Claude!” He’d been about to berate his protector for throwing him into the bushes just a second prior, but the sight of his host bleeding and trembling. He ran to his side, looking worriedly at him before he turned to Junior.  
“Junior! Help me take him to his room-“  
“J-just leave, just leave me here. This is all I deserve when Ezekiel could be out there, a-alone and hurt”  
“Ezekiel will be alright.”   
Junior and his stupid, stupid pagan confidence! Claude’s reaction was just continued sobs, even as Junior lifted him carefully up and brought him to the nearest bedroom. Neither Prince nor Junior were medically minded in any sense of the word, but still the best they could, cleaning the blood off his face (reassuring him his handsome nose wasn’t broken) and supplying his aching ribs and shoulder with ice.   
Normally being fussed over in bed by two beautiful men would have excited him greatly, but as it was Claude lay there with all the dismal beauty of a deposed emperor, trickling tears down upon the bedding. Prince had just started soothingly teasing his hair when the phone rang, making them all jump.  
Claude was in no shape to get up and answer, physically or mentally, and so a moment later Prince hopped off the bed and ran to the living room, the ringing ceasing as he picked up, his soft voice echoing back to the room.  
“Hello?”  
The hiss from the other side was familiar, but the tone was so acrid that Prince felt he was hearing a phantom.  
“Tell Claude I have his sweet kitten, and he can have him back once he returns mine.”  
The line clicked on the other side and there was only silence.  
“W-who was it?” Claude asked as he saw him coming back. Prince fidgeted for a moment before answering.  
“Um... I think I know where Ezekiel is.”  
“W-where?!”  
“Um... I think Raphy has him.”   
A second, another, and a third trickled by before Claude threw himself from the bed, sheets exploding upwards as he hobbled to his coat, trembling all over. Prince was afraid he’d fall apart, going to him and trying to stop him.  
“C-Claude wait—you can’t go, not like this—“ Claude smacked his hand off and did not flinch at Junior’s warning growl.  
“Don’t... touch me. I told you, I told you he was not fine, I told you he would not be alright and you... you!” His eyes moved to Junior, boiling hot with anger even as they filled with tears.  
“You stupid, pagan beast—you’ve seen what they do to your people, to men built like bricks and yet you still let him go—this is on me but also on you! Leave, get out! I don’t want you in my house!” He snapped, forcing himself to walk away.  
“C-Claude wait! He said... h-he said to bring his kitten, if you want him back....” Claude paused at the door, quiet, his back turned to them as he trembled. He turned to the left and down the hall.  
Prince turned to Junior and gently stroked his arm, trying to soothe him.  
“Don’t listen to him Junior, he didn’t mean it, he’s just scared...”

The knocking on his door was frantic and desperate.  
“Raphael—Raphael let me in, please let me in!”  
A rustle overhead. Eyes in multiple windows, winking rapidly out of existence. Looking for the beast who was not with him.  
Locks clicked in rapid sequential and then the door opened and rough hands dragged him in. Locks snapping shut behind him. Marched down a familiar hall that had once been warm and welcoming and was now cold and dark until he was face to face with Raphael.  
The man was pacing like an agitated leopard. His teeth bared with every forced word.  
“Where. Is. He. Claude?”  
Claude wasn't looking at him. He'd been looking frantically around ever since the door had opened, looking, searching. He didn't find what he was looking for.  
"W-where is he? I want to see him first," he asked, mirroring his question.  
“That’s not how this WORKS, Claude!”  
Claude snapped back, voice panicked.  
“Then how do I know that you have him?! How do I know that he’s fine, that you’ll give him back. How do I know you didn’t do to him what you did to them?!”  
NOW Raphael stalked forward, every step an agitation of wrath. His fingers twitched restlessly aside Claude’s throat.  
“You don’t get to know. You don’t get to know just like I don’t get to know that you didn’t set him loose in some flouncy field of flowers where he’s long gone and I’ll never have him again. Where’s MY proof, Claude?”  
Now the anger had also risen to Claude's eyes as well.  
"Leave him in a field—the bastard didn't even move, as I undid the chains and picked him up—he was drugged out of his mind! Leave him in a field to die? Hells, I haven't even seen his eyes…" He paused then, thinking, eyes widening.  
"Is he even a drifter, Raphael? Blond hair, pale skin—fuck, that could have been Prince, that could have been me—I don't know who you are anymore, I don't know what you're capable. If you have Ezekiel then let me see him, and we'll go together to where that poor blond is."  
“You don’t understand—ANYTHING!”   
A scream, the man outright wobbling before him. His arm jerked back and Claude closed his eyes, but no blow came. The doctor trembled in place a moment before stepping back.  
“Bring him.”  
One of the men not involved in restraining Claude ambled off. When he returned, he was holding—  
Ezekiel—Ezekiel, oh God—dangling limp by the collar as the bastard carried him like a drowned kitten, his eyes empty and glassy and drugged. But clothed, unbloodied, better off than the nightmares in Claude’s head. The man dropped him like rubbish in front of Raphael’s feet.  
“And now, where is MINE, Claude?”  
Claude slumped in their hold with the sheer relief of seeing Ezekiel alive and well, all the horrors of his mind dissipated. He trembled wildly where he was held, eyes filling up with tears as the sight of Ezekiel became nothing but a big blur of color.  
"T-The Blanche manor. I'll give him back, I-I'll take you to him, just let me hold him, please, p-please, I swear."  
The hired hands turned to Raphael. He gave a curt nod and then Claude was released.  
He half-lunged half-stumbled to Ezekiel’s side, scooping up his little body and holding him close, trembling. The drifter’s eyes shifted slowly towards focus.  
“C... Claude...”  
The blonde wrapped himself around him. Raphael hissed overhead.  
“We both know you’re not allowed there, Claude, and I’m not waltzing in on your slutty brother’s security forces. So this is what we’ll do—“  
Claude screamed as hands jerked him away and Ezekiel in another direction, the men pinning him down as Raphael scooped up his kitten.  
“You go. You bring Alphonse back to me. If you’re not back in twelve hours, your precious new puss gets every man here in the ass. If you’re not back in twenty four hours, he gets a scalpel everywhere else. Do we understand each other, Claude, as we always have?”  
And Claude stared into his eyes and lost sight of the home he had made there. He saw before him a stranger, a monster. He trembled and looked at him as the tears slid down his cheeks, pattering to the ground. Claude nodded.  
"I u-understand… I understand what I have to do."  
"Good." 

Without much fanfare, he was thrown out on the street, the door slamming shut behind him. Above him the sky was thick with grey clouds, thunder rumbling overhead before the rain began to patter down into the street, soaking everything in its wake within seconds. Claude lay , struggling with an ache that went beyond his wounds. When he got of to his feet, soaked and trembling, he hobbled down the street. Again, no one stopped him, as he marched down the streets in the middle of a storm—there was no one to. Everyone had sought refuge in their homes after the massacre and those who might have remained outside, watching, used the downpour as an excuse to seek the warmth of a hearth.

He'd only been in that street once before, but he was sure now that he would remember the way to that place until the day he died.

He stood before the darkness and swayed there, quiet.  
Red, burning hot and blistering stared him down.  
"Where is he?" That question again, growled hatefully at him. Claude look up, met those eyes willingly as he fell to his knees.  
"I know where he i-is…I know who has him. I'll help you get him back." And whether it was tears or the rain running down his face, he himself could not tell.

The sky wept.  
Raphael checked the windows obsessively—every minute—every half a minute—and in the rounds between windows he scraped at the walls and his own skin.  
He leapt when his men told him he was here. Pale and beautiful and gold, held in Claude’s cloaked arms, step by step to the door.  
But it wasn’t Claude. Claude was a hundred meters behind, drowning his cries beneath the rain as the death he’d brought walked in the door.  
There were no screams. There was no struggle. But when the man stepped back out into the rain with two bundles in his arms, Claude knew.  
Claude stared, standing on shaky legs, he forced himself to take one step after another, walking past the man as he walked away. He'd known the moment he'd chosen to go to the drifter that he had killed his friend.

He hadn't been able to stomach the sight of the dead in the market, had hoped to never see such a sight again, yet still he forced himself to go up the stairs, through the front door. No blood, but the bodies of the men who had held and hit him lay on the ground, purple marks around their necks, and Raphael—  
"R-Raphael!"  
On the floor, by the wall, eyes wide and staring forward as he shook, a knife held tightly in his hand. Claude lunged forward, snatching the knife from his hands and throwing it away before he drew the doctor close and tight and sobbed against him.  
"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"  
The man was so cold. Claude squeezed him close across every inch, urging his warmth into him as he wept into his shoulder. It took a moment to notice he was being touched. It took another to realize Raphael was trying to push him off with shaking arms.  
Claude sat back. Raphael stared at him, haunted.  
“He stopped him. Everything I’ve done and he stopped him. For you.”  
Claude could hear nothing but the tempest of his own heart. Raphael sagged back against the wall, eyes closed, tears draping down.   
“That’s love, Claude. That’s what you’ve been looking for. G-Go to him.”  
Claude's answer was to whimper, tense, as if his body was stuck between deciding to stay or go. It finally seemed to reach a decision as he stood up, swaying. He paused one last time to look at Raphael, and then turned and ran as fast as his battered body would take him, leaving the doctor to whisper apologies behind.


	8. Chapter 8

With the weight of the two drifters the man hadn't gone far, and so thankfully Claude was able to reach him.  
"W-wait! Wait…"   
The man stopped, turned to glare, but Claude did not flinch.  
"I... t-thank you for… I… y-you can stay at my home. It's safe and warm. You can stay for as long as you need. Please, please, I would die before I let anything happen to him," he whined, eyes fixed on Ezekiel's bundled up form.  
The man seemed to mull it over. It didn’t take long. He turned to Claude and—  
Staggered, almost losing his footing, vomiting blood on to the streets. The blonde hurriedly caught him and in answer the drifter passed Ezekiel into his arms.  
“Yes. Carry him.”  
The man wiped red off his lips and straightened, getting a better hold on the other still body and starting forward.  
He looked uneasily at the man before leading the way. But what ever measure of concern managed to worm its way past his terror was promptly pushed away by his love for Ezekiel. The drifter laid in his arms, limp and warm, eyes closed now. He held him closer as he moved forward, resisting the urge to kiss him and tucking Ezekiel's head under his chin instead, nuzzling.  
They made their way silently back towards Claude's home, the man stumbling a few more times before they finally stood before the blond's house.  
Junior wasn’t there to greet them. He’d balked in terror when he’d first seen the man, running off with Prince to somewhere deeper in the house and coming back alone, bowing deep and often as he carried away the other soul they’d brought from Dylan’s mansion. Two stops it had taken them to prepare. Two chances to stop what was happening. He’d made his choice. And Ezekiel—Ezekiel had saved the one he feared, the one who would have killed him, all for him.  
Claude ticked his head down further, tears dampening Ezekiel’s collar.  
Both he and the man moved for the nearest bedroom. Junior was looking over the other little drifter, quiet on the bed. At their intrusion he started and bowed his way elsewhere. The old drifter gave him a tired nod of greeting before settling the blonde boy down on the couch and then moving to join his nephew and the unknown on the bed.   
Apparently not unknown to him. He drew both younger drifters close, although it was clear Ezekiel was the closer kin. The man burrowed his face into his hair and breathed.  
A moment later he looked up. The eyes that had promised slow death before were now dull and tired.  
He offered Claude the same bow of his head he’d offered the other drifter.  
“Thank you.”  
Claude jumped, startled, fidgeting where he stood at the door.  
“A-ah, no I—thank you, really! I just, um...” he seemed unable to find words to say, simply swaying there quietly as his eyes shifted from the man to Ezekiel, until the older drifter narrowed his own and with a word, had Junior closing and locking the door on him, keeping him from seeing Ezekiel any longer. 

Claude sighed, deflating—all the way to the ground, the last of his strength depleted. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with Ezekiel safe and warm in his arms. He doubted that would happen. Perhaps ever at all. But at least he was safe. He was safe and happy and alright and Claude would give his life to keep it that way. Those were his thoughts as he passed out in the middle of the hall, cheek pressed against the soothing coolness of the mahogany floor.  
Claude awoke to his head and injured shoulder slamming into the floor, yipping in pain and startled fear before he scrambled around to face his—  
Uh—to face Ezekiel’s uncle, half bent over him and looking tremendously guilty.  
“Sorry—you—you weigh more than—you shouldn’t sleep on... floor... sorry...”  
And well, he was wide awake now. He sat up, idly cradling his shoulder as he addressed the older man, face reddening at their closeness. However, the flustering did not last long, heavier thoughts soon occupying his mind  
"N-no, I'm sorry, I was just so tired—b-but how's Ezekiel? Is he alright? Is he awake? Is he hungry? I can make him breakfast—I'll make breakfast, actually, I'll be right back!" He declared, getting to his feet and striding towards the kitchen.  
“It’s still night.”  
Ah... so it was; an impressive hand carved clock mounted on the wall declared it just shy of two in the morning. Had he only been asleep a few minutes? Hell, what time had they even...  
It was too much thinking and too much moving; Claude could feel his energy sizzling out where he stood.  
“Ezekiel is still asleep. You should sleep, too.”  
Claude turned to see the man starting to walk away, back towards the bedroom. But only a few steps. He paused abruptly, fists clenching and unclenching. Claude tensed.  
And untensed, shocked, as the voice he’d so recently found so frightening broke as it spoke.  
“Ezekiel... was he... with you, all this time? These last... three months?”  
Three months. God, the man hadn’t seen him for three months? For almost two months, then, he’d been—  
Claude looked away and shook his head.  
“I found him a few weeks ago, alone on the streets, but b-before that...” Before that he had been in the clutches of that man, and he did not dare think of the horrors he had suffered. Gods, for two months!  
“I’m sorry...” it was becoming a habit, apologizing, as if he could have avoided anything that had happened to him.  
“No.”  
Claude flinched. But what followed was not accusation, but conciliation.   
“No. You helped him. I am grateful. Without you he would likely be dead.”  
Now the man turned. And offered a deep and full bow rather than a mere inclination of the head.  
“I am indebted to you. Ezekiel’s brother is already safely out of the city, but I believe his father is still here. When I find him we will leave. But until then—anything within my power to give you that you desire, I will give.”  
Another time, Claude might have grinned at such an open suggestion, sidled closer and purred ‘anything?’  
And yet now there was only one request in his mind. He stepped closer, tentatively.  
“Can I... c-can I be with him? Please?” He begged, eyes wide and hopeful.  
It was fairly evident the man hadn’t expected THAT. He looked him up and down, more shrewdly, while Claude stood there dripping sweat.  
“Yes.”  
“O-Okay—“  
Abruptly the real answer instead of the imagined one CLICKED. Claude stood straighter and his breathing quickened. The older drifter turned back into the room and the ashen stumbled after before he could change his mind.  
Yet Claude stopped inside the door, uncertain of just how close he was permitted.  
Ezekiel’s uncle had crossed to his side, looking down at him. He set a hand gently on the boy’s hair.  
The younger drifter’s face was peaceful in sleep. Real, honest sleep, not drugged imitation.  
“I spared that man because he asked. For you, yes?”  
The man turned towards him.  
“Ezekiel does not trust easily. If he trusts you, I will, too.”  
He turned back to his nephew, stooped, and kissed his face. There was a tenderness and a pain to it that made Claude feel guilty for watching.   
And then the man straightened. He moved to the other prone drifter and scooped him up, taking him and a blanket both and settling into a nearby chair. One last nod at Claude before he closed his eyes.

For a moment Claude stood uneasily there, unmoving, as if afraid it was a trap. He took a step forward. When he didn’t immediately die, he moved the rest of the way to the bed, crawling on top and drawing Ezekiel close, sinking with him into the sheets as every ache in his body was entirely forgotten and replaced by the reassuring warmth of the one in his arms.

“Claude! CLAUDE!”  
And he opened his eyes to bright clear wonder. The one he would give everything for laughed and threw himself into his arms and the world was filled with light.  
Then he was off—screaming for his uncle, for the other drifter in his arms, writhing all over them in an ecstasy of joy, all three bursting into delighted peals of their language. And then Ezekiel was racing back to him, pressing into his arms, burying his face in his chest.  
“Thank you. Thank you.”  
Claude had no words to give, all he wanted to do was hold him close and drew him into a kiss—remembered Ezekiel's uncle was there, diverted his lips to the top of the drifter's head as he drew him into a tight hug.  
"Oh Kitten, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I left—but please! Never leave like that again—" Their reunion was interrupted by the sound of something clattering down from beyond the hall, both Ezekiel and Claude squeaking as they held onto one another. Ezekiel's uncle frowned, setting down the drifter in his own arms and moving to the door, slowly. They followed cautiously, with Claude pushing Ezekiel protectively behind him as they peered around the corner to see what had made the noise.  
"Oh."  
It was the other drifter, the blond one. He'd woken while they slept, pushing himself out of the room as he clung weakly to some bedsheets he'd been covered with, found his way to the kitchen, to a knife, but then had finally lost his balance and fallen to the ground.   
He could see now that he was truly a drifter, with eyes of red burning with a hatred that rivaled that of the witches when they had first met. He raised the knife, hand shaky, and hissed like a rattlesnake. Poor thing looked so weak. How long had Raphael held him down on that bed, unable to move at all?  
Of course, all of Claude’s sympathies were rather constrained by the fact that the other blonde was holding a POINTY KNIFE. Weak though he was, stabbing didn’t take much effort, and Claude had had QUITE enough near death experiences of late, thank you!  
So it was Asmodeus, instead, who took a step forward, crouching as he did so. The—drifter—mix, whatever he was, raised himself up as best he could and hissed again. Claude would have felt safer approaching a cobra.  
“The albino girl is safe.”  
It was as if some other soul had replaced the blonde’s, so profound a change swept over him. His eyes widened and he began to tremble, blade clattering once more from his fingers. Asmodeus continued to speak slowly.  
“I saved her a few days past. She is with others. They are out of the city, traveling south. Van—“  
Now he turned to his nephew.   
“Is leading them.”  
Ezekiel made a quiet sound and sunk to his knees, hands to his lips, tears welling up.  
Claude had knelt by Ezekiel's side, laying a hand upon his shoulder and then holding him close when the drifter turned to him. But in truth his thoughts were far away. They'd found his brother, his family, and they had already left the city, would likely continue traveling away. Away from him. He stroked Ezekiel's back one last time, stealing a swift kiss from his lips while his uncle was looking away.  
"Ezekiel, love… I'll be right back, I'll fetch your friend some clothes." Another kiss to his forehead this time and he was gone. He returned with a set of clothes for the blond drifter, tried to help him move to a room so he could change. His sobbing was interrupted with murder attempts then. Junior had to fetched instead. Not that the blond didn't try to murder him as well, but he was actually able to pick him up and hold him still without being murdered, setting him down in an empty room with his new clothes.

Claude busied himself preparing breakfast for all his guests, and he had nearly finished when the blond returned, limping along Junior.  
"Tell me where they went, I'll go find them now."  
Asmodeus had been talking softly in his own tongue with the two younger drifters, but he looked up now.  
“We are leaving in a few days—“  
Claude winced at the confirmation of what he’d already known.  
“Come with us. You will die if you go alone.”  
Matter of fact. The truth, not a guess.  
The blond trembled adorably like a kettlepot about to blow.  
"And you will die when they find you hiding here." Hissed hatefully, but the half breed knew the conversation was over. He turned around and left for the deeper parts of the house, clutching to the walls. Not yet ready to leave, after all, it seemed. With him gone, Claude shook himself awake from that distraction. A few days, then… only that much longer to keep Ezekiel safe and healthy. As the others were worried with each other, he mixed the content of his medicine with the milk they would all drink, using the same trick as before.  
Then it was heaping portions for all of them. Junior bobbed his head in thanks and lumbered off down the hall with two plates—returned, headed back down with THREE plates, casting uncertain glances back at Asmodeus as he went. Ezekiel gave his food a once-over before tearing in, chittering happily and making what were presumably recommendations to his uncle, who sniffed appreciatively before joining in.  
And the third one, the other little one, just—stared.

Now that they were out of the hell of Raphael’s creation, Claude could see that the other drifter was not quite like Ezekiel. Oh, the similarities were there and strong and obvious, but even a stranger would have been able to tell them apart. Where Ezekiel was soft and gentle and trusting THIS little one was sharp and suspicious and agitated. Even when Ezekiel had first come to him, his fear had been different. Submissive. Resigned. But this one’s fear was ferocity.  
Still adorable, like an angry street kitten versus a happy house kitten, but—  
Claude stopped mid-internal-gushing to remember why, exactly, the newcomer was afraid. Countless rows of neat red stitches on sun touched skin.  
Asmodeus turned to the other and said something—simple enough that Claude actually understood it. The word for eat, and—Azriel? A name?  
With great reluctance the new kitten did and—OH NO DAMN IT! While he’d been distracted he hadn’t noticed that Ezekiel was now staring with yesterday’s uncanny suspicion at his MILK! No no no no no don’t you DARE you little shi—  
Asmodeus asked him something and Ezekiel started squirming. Whatever mutter he answered with, Asmodeus pressed the question again. A different response this time, unhappy, Ezekiel tapping at the counter with his fork.  
Asmodeus straightened and turned to Claude. Claude went a whiter shade of white. Oh no. Oh fuck. This was how he was going to die.  
“You can stop his seizures?”  
Urgent, interested—NOT angry.  
And yet even then Claude was afraid, shaking as he managed to stammer an answer.  
“U-um, y-yes—but it’s for his own good I swear! The seizures, they’re not good for him, and he is so much healthier without them!”  
“Yes.”  
“O-Oh good, you a-agree.”  
Asmodeus stood and Claude yipped, ducking behind the counter. Undeterred, the drifter swung around to meet him.  
“We have tried to stop them, but our medicines do nothing.”  
He held out his hand and Claude, wobbling all over, managed to extract the rest of the pills from a lower drawer. Asmodeus rolled one between his fingers, examining it closely.  
“How do you make it?”  
More uncertain whimpering.  
"O-oh well... do you remember…" The man you almost killed.  
"The d-doctor… he's the one who gave them to me for Ezekiel… but… I don't think it'd be a good idea to ask for m-more…"  
“Doctor?”  
“Y-You know... the... the, um...”  
It clicked. Asmodeus stared at him a minute longer before making a soft sound of disgust.  
“A _doctor_.“  
Claude couldn’t really argue with the sentiment. Instead he continued to try to merge into the floor. Asmodeus returned to scrutinizing the pill before pocketing it.  
“Azriel’s family are apothecaries. Maybe—“  
Sudden, startling grief. Asmodeus looked wide-eyed at nothing before lifting himself painfully up.  
“Azriel...”  
Claude caught a few things; the word for where. The word for father. And then the little drifter who’d looked at him with eyes of ice shattered. A full body misery, wringing himself against the stool, weeping.  
Asmodeus all but hurled himself across the counter and pulled him close. Questions, answers, snatches Claude understood—the little one crying no, no, and Asmodeus murmuring we will find them, and then Azriel folded himself into his hold and sunk into a quieter form of pain. Ezekiel pressed close to them both.  
Claude might have been a voyeur, but this was a different sort of intimacy, and he felt he had no place watching it. He turned his head and that was why he missed it.   
A sudden sharp exclamation. Claude turned back around to find Asmodeus staring fixedly at an incision that had just become visible through the neck of the other drifter’s shirt.  
Oh, Claude thought, almost slowly. I’m FUCKED.  
Asmodeus pushed the boy’s collar further back with a trembling delicacy and saw them. All of them. Dozens—  
Questions that weren’t meant to be answered, roared, Ezekiel crying out as he saw them too, Azriel simply returning to silent shock and staring empty-eyed past Asmodeus’ shoulder. The man went quiet then and it was worse.   
Claude heard every measured breath the man took as they pulsed faster and faster. His own heart echoed the beat as the man, inevitably, looked at him. As his death looked at him.  
“Did your doctor do this?”  
Oh no, he’d put the pieces together. Claude felt oddly detached, as if he was about to watch some other poor bastard be slaughtered.  
Apparently his stupor was answer enough. Asmodeus had only one more question. His voice was a shuddering snarl.  
“Did. You. Know.”  
The man's glare was piercing and in answer, his eyes strayed away, back down to the floor as he trembled where he stood.  
"I-I… I knew, but…" But what? How could he ever excuse what Raphael had done? He couldn't. The only thing that had him worry for the man's life was his own selfish love for him. Raphael was a monster. But to him, for so long, he'd been home. He swayed where he stood, stumbled back, one step, another—turned and ran. He heard the man snarling behind him, but he was too far away. Claude slammed the door to the kitchen shut and locked with trembling fingers. The man slamming against wood, roaring like a beast. Claude's legs failed him and he slid down. Oh no oh no he would die an then Raphael would die and then—He looked up, saw the phone in his living room and scrambled for it, fumbling to get the numbers to the clinic right.  
And it rang and it rang and it rang.  
Oh god oh god oh god oh PLEASE pick up, oh please, oh please—  
The tears were a current, Claude curling around the phone as he slid to the floor, mouthing his prayer.  
Oh please oh please oh—  
“Claude.”  
“Get out of there! He’s coming, he’ll—“  
The door exploded, and it wasn’t Asmodeus behind it, it was Junior. He lumbered forward but Asmodeus beat him to it, snarling, setting on Claude like a dog, thrashing him into the floor. The phone line went dead behind them.   
“What did you—“  
No, he already knew; spitting and cursing he slammed Claude down one last time before scrambling and shooting for the door. Ezekiel yipped as his uncle tripped over him; they launched into a rapid fire exchange in their own tongue as Junior picked his way forward and half-uncertainly glowered down at a quivering Claude.  
He needn’t have kept watch. Asmodeus turned and his gaze fixated on Claude like a chokehold. The man felt himself getting up and proceeded to bash his own head against the wall.  
Ezekiel screamed and scrabbled at his uncle, literally winding himself around his face; at the broken line of sight Claude was himself again, unsteady and dizzy, warm blood dripping down.  
He staggered away, holding onto his head and clutching at the walls for support as he stumbled deeper into the house, crying like a wounded animal. He was heading for his own room when he heard it, Frantic banging on the door, a shrill voice crying out.  
"Junior? Junior! What's happening?!" Prince, locked in a room from the outside. He fumbled with the lock and stumbled in, closing the door behind himself. The blond cried out, frightened at the sight of blood.  
"C-Claude—what's going on out there?"  
"H-he tried to kill me—and than giant oaf—fucking ingrate helped him!" And he would help him again, break that door down just the same. Claude whimpered and moved to the window.  
"He'll do anything that man tells him to… oh god is that why he has you locked in? He'll kill you if he asks! We have to go Prince, we have to go."  
The blond whimpered, looking uncertainly between the door and him—and clinging to him, helping him move towards the window.  
Both of them heard the thunder of feet outside the door then, just as Claude had predicted; Prince clutched closer to him in anxious fear as the other man fumbled desperately at the windowsill.  
The pounding continued past the door—and stopped. Returned. FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck fuck—  
Claude tossed the window open at the same time Junior entered, all by simply turning the handle. But his eyes went first to Prince. The little thing whimpered, and recoiled.  
Junior’s eyes widened.  
“Prince—no, it is—“  
A step forward and Prince outright cried, clutching at Claude.  
The massive drifter’s face switched entirely to stupid guilt. He seemed to want to say something but couldn’t process what. And then, echoing from further off, Asmodeus’ bellows of rage.  
Junior shuddered and, with great delicacy, stepped back. The door clicked closed behind him and his massive footfalls continued down the hallway.  
The two remained still, clinging to each other by the window and watching the door with wide eyes as the voice drifted by. Only when it was gone did Claude move to crawl out. Prince stopped him, tugging him back.  
“W-wait, Claude. I think we should stay here. I t-think Junior will protect us.” Claude leaned down, hissing confidentially.  
“Prince, the whole reason I’m bleeding right now is HIS fault! That man was going to kill me and if Ezekiel—oh sweet Ezekiel hadn’t done something then I’d be dead!”  
Prince whimpered, looking down.  
“Well... he’ll protect me, and I’ll protect you, but if they catch you out there alone...” A moment of quiet stillness, and the younger blond tugged him away from the window again. He let them, the two of them taking to the closet and leaving the window open.  
Thank God for Claude’s wealth, which had put a clock in every room. By the tense ticks they made out the turn of the hour. One minute, two, three—  
It took five. Junior lumbered back in the door, eyes affixed to the window, making low moans of misery.  
Claude was rigid in the closet. Prince pushed past him and threw the door open.  
Junior jumped high enough to bash his head against the ceiling and started exuberantly towards him—paused mid step, noticing Claude, hunching down in shame. He fixed his attention on Prince.  
“The Mala is afraid. He wants to run. Ezekiel is resisting.”  
Prince lost no time in making his way to the drifter, clinging to him and whining quietly as he rubbed his head against his chest.  
"But you won't go with him, will you? You won't leave me behind?" Before the Drifter could give his answer, however, the blond gasped, eyes widening as he had an idea.  
"You should—hit him over the head and knock him out, and then we can stuff him in a closet and none of us have to leave!"  
Claude had only half climbed out of the closet as he spoke.  
"Can you… let Ezekiel know… somehow… I would like to say goodbye at least."  
Junior had cupped Prince’s face in one enormous hand, looking tenderly at him, but as Claude spoke he looked up and soured. The blonde flinched and half shrunk back into the closet.  
“That man... tortured that little one, and you helped him escape. Why should I let you anywhere near another?”  
His voice had deepened as he spoke, like the edging of a storm. He drew Prince in close, protecting him, from...  
Claude wanted to SCREAM. What fear he felt for the hulk of a man sizzled and died under something else as it bubbled upwards. His face was bruised and bloody, his body pained and battered. He felt agony like never before and all for what?  
"Because—I saved them. I did that. I saved them and I saved you and I could have lost money and skin and health doing so—in fact I lost all three of those things just so that you and that man who is a MUR, DER, ER, could beat and batter and try to kill me in my very own house—is it sticking now through your big head? The concept that sometimes you don't want people dead even when they've done bad things? That sometimes people you hate can do good things for other people—that maybe I helped him because he did good things for me like I did good things for you like you did good things for Prince? Because your witch doesn't get it. Will you get it, if he finds Prince, if he kills him? Will you know so very clearly who to protect? Or will you help him kill Prince yourself?" He'd crawled to his feet and walked all the way to the drifter, unafraid of his snarling face—jabbed his finger onto his chest as he hissed. And in his arms, by his side, Prince blinked, eyes wide, pushing back from his grip, not slipping all the way out but still—looking up at him, expectant of his answer.  
Junior’s answer was thunder.  
“Never.”  
“Then help him, Junior.” Prince’s squeak, just at the edge of his grip.  
“Claude has helped all of us, he doesn't deserve everything you’ve done to him. All he wants is to say goodbye.”  
And at that the beast of a man’s anger fizzled into something like exasperation. He looked closely down at Prince a moment longer before snorting in Claude’s direction.  
“I will return.”

But he didn’t.

Again the agony of the hour. Longer. When the sun had set at last Prince couldn’t bear it any longer and, despite Claude’s frantic protests, raced off throughout the house.   
They were gone, all of them. The mad witch and his two young kin, the pale half-breed. And Junior.  
They’d taken a bundle of food from the pantry, but they had left one thing behind. The medicine Claude had so carefully given to the one he loved, crushed across the counter.  
Claude leaned tiredly against the wall and sunk down, sighing. Prince could do nothing but stare and stare and stare—and do another lap around the house, the garden. Nothing. He found nothing.  
“H-he left... he left me.” Claude looked up at Prince’s trembling voice, sighed again.  
“Prince...” he’d known this moment would come, that Ezekiel would leave him behind to go with his own, but he hadn’t known it’d be so sudden, or that he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. But at least he was safe, at least he was happy. He’d done everything he could for him. But Prince... had he really thought that would last?  
The thought crossed his mind but he never voiced it, and he regretted thinking of it when the blond turned to him with reddened eyes. All he could do right now for him, however, was himself. He opened his arms and the blond lunged forward, throwing himself in his hold. Claude winced and gritted his teeth at the pain, holding Prince tightly, but said nothing.   
“I-I thought that I, for once...” Claude stroked his hair as he trembled, and eventually the boy went limp, face still buried against his chest.  
“O-oh well, that’s a new record eh? Three—almost four days before being dumped... and now that the drifters are gone, I’ll have all my clients back.”  
“Prince...” The blond sniffled, then pulled away, wiping at his face.  
“I-I have to go, it’s almost night time—“   
Claude grabbed his arm before he could go, pulled him back against his chest.  
“Prince... you have a client right here. I’ll hire you.”   
The blond looked up, blinking. Claude offered a teasing smile.  
“I’ll hire you for a romantic date. I’ll clean this place up, make us dinner, and then hold you safe and warm in the dark of night... ah, but I don’t have any change on me... would board and bed be enough?” Prince’s eyes filled with tears before he buried his face back against him and nodded.  
Claude stroked his hair until he’d calmed down and then they were up. Hiding away the signs that the others were ever there. Pretending they didn’t remember that they’d gone.  
They lay in each other’s arms that night. It was all they did. Holding on to something solid and warm and trying to forget the memories. Prince woke up the next day with tears dried on his face. Claude wiped them away and smiled, like he always did, and they made the rest of the hours as normal as they could. Yet it was like a daydream, not all quite there, the sun dulled for reasons beyond the smog. They returned to one another’s company in the evening, but it was an embrace meant to comfort, and in their minds and hearts they longed for different faces.


	9. Chapter 9

Claude woke out of an already broken sleep to the sound of wood splintering. He jerked his head up further—the sound was close—splinters around the doorknob—

He flung himself out of bed and to the window. Not enough time not enough time not enough, the man would see them, he only had to see them to kill them—  
Claude swept Prince off the bed, muffling his squeak in the bedding, and tossed him in the closet. He went for the window and stopped mid-step.

He heard the rest of the door crack open. Some nameless muscular bastard whammed his head unconscious on the wall and collapsed. And Asmodeus—he couldn’t see him, he couldn’t move at all, but he could FEEL him there.  
“Where is he?”  
Pained. Silence other than shallow breaths. Claude felt himself forced to turn around and there he was, face twisted with rage, eyes pricked with tears.  
“Where IS he?”  
Where was WHO? Prince? No, the man hadn't seen him once—why would he even look for him. Raphael? He had no idea, not since he'd called—gods he hoped he had run away, so then—   
His eyes widening, whole body tensing, and the fear was greater than any he'd shown when concerned for his own life.  
"E-Ezekiel?"  
“You don’t know.”  
A whisper. Claude felt his head tilt forward in confirmation. And at that the man he’d so feared wailed like a speared animal, collapsing to his knees and scrabbling at his face.  
“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”  
The man was death, and yet Claude went to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.  
"What happened—why isn't he with you?"  
Some broken reply in foreign tongue. Claude shook him again.  
“English!”  
“Gone—gone—ran off—said he was coming here, said he—“  
Abruptly the man’s body seized; he pitched forward against Claude’s shoulder, barking, and the air filled with the smell of iron. Asmodeus pulled himself back and up to his feet, twisting towards the door.  
“No—no—not now, not NOW, not YET—“  
Half a trembling step forward before he went down, convulsing. A few smaller spasms and he lay still, red dripping slowly from his lips.  
"Oh fuck—fuck! Prince, help me! Ah, no no no not on my bed—he's gross and bloody and tried to kill me—the guest room, the guest room!"

Asmodeus woke up to the taste of blood in his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. He tried to move and found that he couldn't. Had he died? Was this death—  
"Um, are you awake mister evil witch man? I think you are." A poke to his robs and he snarled. The unfamiliar voice squeaked, drawing away, but soon grew closer again, determined even if afraid.  
"D-don't even think about it! I tied you myself and I'm an expert in knots. Claude went out to get Ezekiel so you're mine while he's gone. Now fess up, where did you take my Junior?!"  
Silence. Prince sucked in air and came as close to a scowl as he could manage, leaning in against the mattress.  
“I said—“  
The man bellowed and lunged at him and Prince screamed and skittered to the door. And stopped there as it became evident his prisoner wasn’t going anywhere. The drifter thrashed brutally only a moment longer before going still, heaving. The knots had held. This viper had no teeth.  
Looking at him from the safety of across the room, it struck Prince that the scary monster man was thinner than Claude, and probably would have been even if he’d been at proper weight. He wasn’t so tough! Prince puffed up and stomped back over.  
The man snarled something that was probably a foreign profanity. Prince scolded him. A lapse into silence and then the violent hissing of a cat.  
“Who the fuck are you?”  
“I’m Junior’s—“  
What, exactly? Prince felt his guts roil. He looked down.  
“Friend.”  
“Let me go.”  
“N-No!”  
“He is with the others. I will find Ezekiel and go back to him. Let me go.”  
“N-no! I’m not letting you take Junior until I’ve talked to him!” The blond whined as he smacked his hand down on the older man’s belly, who yelped in response. Prince squeaked, startled, babbling apologies.  
“O-oh I’m sorry I’m sorry please don’t k-kill me—“ the man thrashed and snarled some more but went nowhere, and with that some of the blonde’s confidence returned.  
“I-I mean, t-there’s more where that came from if you don’t tell me where he is!” Prince squeaked as he loomed closer, crawling onto the bed to rain more belly smacks if necessary.  
Sulking silence. Prince considered how likely his next action was to result in horrific death, then raised a trembling hand.  
The man spat.  
“You think I know your vulgar streets by name? I found the house by sight. I need sight to find it again.”  
Prince sighed, exasperated.   
“Just tell me what the house looked like and I’ll find it. Was it by the market? Was it by the port? Near the bar, the church? If you tell me I promise not to do awful bad things to you, very very bad things that you’ll regret if you don’t tell me!”  
Nothing but a silent hiss from the old snake in answer to his threats. Ugh, great, what now? He’d had no intention of actually going through with it—had no idea of what actual things to do either! But if the man didn’t fess up, how would he ever find Junior?!  
The witch felt a light weight settling atop him as the blond straddled him, leaning forward and hissing himself.  
“Well you asked for it!” A moment later Prince proceeded to do his darnedest best to tickle him all over.  
And the man bucked like an enraged steer, Prince squealing as he was thrown clean off, bouncing against the bedding before thumping to the floor. The man BELLOWED.  
“You miserable, pale, earthbound little whore! Do you know what I’ve done to get here? Do you know how many of your filthy worming kind I’ve slaughtered? Do you want to be the last to stand between me and what I came for?”  
His voice dropped, low, a whisper and worse.  
“Do you want to know what I’ll do to you?”  
"U-uuuuuh you'll tell me where Junior is?"  
"I'LL KILL YOU!" The man roared, causing prince to squeal and promptly hide under the bed, trembling in fear. The man kept struggling above him, making the bed creak, but no impending doom rained down on him as the seconds passed. Prince opened his eyes, which he had only now realized had been closed. A moment later he crawled from under the bed, peering over its edge, eyes narrowed.  
"Oh you mean old man you CAN'T do anything to me! Now tell me where Junior is or I'll torment you until you do!" He squeaked, following his words with a sharp poke to the man's ribs.

As dastardly clever as Prince’s interrogation method was, for some bizarre reason it did not yield results. Unless you counted increasingly hostile screaming and grotesque death descriptions as results. Regardless, Prince was nothing if not devoted; he continued with increasing boldness even as the drifter’s energetic thrashing began to falter, thundering snarls reducing to faint rumbles of outrage. Prince chose to take it as a sign of progress.

Claude, on the other end, was having no such success.  
Back to the abandoned market—back down the cold alley where he’d met him—back even to the steps of Raphael’s house, now empty. Nothing. Nothing at all.  
A light rain began to fall. And Claude stood there, clutching his shoulder as it began to throb, water dampening down his locks into rivulets of gold.  
Why?  
In the last week he had performed valors his faint heart could barely stand to remember. He had taken in refugees, he had freed captives, he had met death and dared to defy it. He had done so much, so why...  
He had never felt such a fever in his heart before. He had never felt so cold.  
Claude turned and began to scrape his way homeward. Ezekiel had... he had tried to return to him before. Maybe this time, maybe...  
Again the streets were desolate of all but occasional clumps of skittish soldiers. They did not trouble to stop him. Until he was a street away from home, and one of a pair of policemen did a double take at his passing.  
“Oh! The Blanche ba—“  
The man coughed. Claude didn’t bother looking up until the copper yelled.  
“The station’s been trying to reach you! They picked up something of yours.”  
Claude whipped back and his eyes dilated.  
“What—they picked up WHAT?!”  
“Some drifter slave—he was waving around a col—“

Claude outright sprinted to the station, bursting through the doors. And there, huddled in a corner with collar outstretched like a talisman, was the one he loved.  
He lunged forward like he wasn’t aching all over, both pulling Ezekiel close and scooping him up in the same fluid motion, shielding him from the world with his body. He sunk down to the floor then, trembling all over.  
“E-Ezekiel, o-oh Ezekiel, I thought... I thought...”  
Ezekiel breathed his name and melded to his arms. Trust. Completely. Even after he’d—he’d saved the man who would have—  
Claude clutched him tighter as the tears came. Ezekiel shifted as they marked his back, reaching up to touch his face.  
“Sorry. Sorry. No more. I stay with you.”  
Claude’s sobbing became noisy and undignified and frankly inconsolable as Ezekiel squeaked and rubbed worriedly against him. Behind them, one of the cops whistled.  
“A loyal drifter, who’da thunk.”  
“Doubt it. Just didn’t want to go back to the market, I bet.”  
“Does ANYONE want to go back there right now?”  
“Haha! Bet the squirt wishes he’d gotten there a couple days sooner! Guess he saw he was late to the party and gave up!”  
Claude shuddered for reasons other than relief at that, curling more tightly around Ezekiel and gritting his teeth. He took a deep breath and spoke.  
“Thank you for finding him, I’m taking him home.” With that he rose to his feet, carrying Ezekiel with him as he went.  
He didn’t go far. Ezekiel’s added weight, even meager as it was, too much for him now that he lacked the adrenaline that not knowing where his beloved was had injected in him. He held himself against the wall as he slid down to the floor, biting down a whimper and his pride.  
“C-Can you call me a carriage?”

He clutched Ezekiel like a precious treasure through the drive home, then all the way to the nearest couch right before collapsing on it. And even then he clung even as he sunk down against the cushions, exhausted.  
All the finest silks in the world he had sampled, pillows of swan feather as velvet as the sky, coverings hand-sewn by the artisans of kings, and he would have traded them all for the comfort of Ezekiel in his arms. He was six again, clutching to a thing treasured and soft, certain of his safety in the dark.  
He might have dozed. All he knew was he started when Ezekiel moved, his beloved squirming in his arms, trying to get loose.  
Claude moaned in absolute unhappiness. Ezekiel stopped, but only a moment, wriggling with greater earnest even as he placed soft kisses upon Claude’s face.  
“It ok. It ok.”  
It wasn’t, but Claude set him free, reluctantly. Ezekiel didn’t go far; he simply adjusted himself on the couch, looking over his lover’s wounds before beginning to knead softly, soothingly at his back.  
“Bath? Or, only sleep, now?”  
A bath? What a question when they had just been reunited. Then again, when was the last time he'd had enough time and safety to indulge in a bath. He smiled tiredly and pulled Ezekiel close again, nuzzling at his hair and ruffling it teasingly.  
"A bath, kitten? Are you implying I stink? So cruel!" The drifter squeaked and then giggled as he tickled him. But ah, if that was what his beloved wanted, then so be it. One last tickle, a soft kiss to Ezekiel's cheek.  
"Oh very well, anything you want… but I'm afraid you'll have to carry me there, kitten," he murmured, stroking Ezekiel's face as he looked at him in wonder.  
And—bless him—the little thing actually TRIED. Claude let him for a moment before he burst into laughter, getting to wobbling legs and limping along to the nearest bathroom. Only when he was surrounded by gilded marble did he pause. This plan had not been overly well thought out. As exciting as the thought of being naked with his kitten was, doing so right NOW, right after they’d been so mercifully reunited—  
It felt... sacrilegious? Vulgar? Claude had never expected to think of ANYTHING as being vul—  
He needn’t have fretted over it. Ezekiel was already naked and in and running the water, waiting for him.  
Claude joined as swiftly as aching limbs would allow, wincing every time Ezekiel’s quick eyes noted another injury. Apparently his dismay registered; the drifter turned suddenly away to splash around the faucets instead, enamored. Ah, right! His people moved so much they wouldn’t HAVE baths, not elaborate like this, not with running water. How cute must his kitten have looked the first time he’d set him loose in one, figuring out the taps?  
That precious wondering and the hot water made a hell of a combination. It HAD been a while—and, Claude noted with the deepest shame, all the bleeding and fighting and running and sleepless nights had left him with a bit more odor than he liked.  
No sooner had he sunk fully into the tub than Ezekiel twitched towards him.  
“Kitten...?”  
“No move,” Ezekiel murmured, pressing closer. Despite himself Claude flushed with heat as the drifter reached out—  
And began tending his wounds with exquisite grace, examining, cleaning free the filth. That was why he had wanted the bath. To tend to him.  
“After, dry, I will... bandage.”  
Claude shivered under the soft touch of Ezekiel's fingers and—proceeded to douse the water with a generous dose of bubble soap, the foam rising up to hide their bodies beneath the water.  
"A-hahaha, have you tried this before kitten? Don't you like the bubbles?" His kitten did like it, chirping happily and looking so very adorable. But his dedication was admirable. Even before the novelty of a bubble bath, he managed to shift his concentration back to tending to Claude, deft fingers massaging his skin and the tense muscle below as the blond bit down a whimper and closed his eyes.  
Fuck fuck fuck fuck! Oh damn it all—how could he ever be expected to keep his cool in this situation?! There was no restraining the rapid rise of excitement that Ezekiel's touches were causing.  
And there was no hiding it beneath bubbles, either. Claude groaned as Ezekiel pressed forward to reach a scrape on his back and in doing so brushed against the inevitable.  
His kitten went still. Ahaha, what must he think? Man, what a pervert—  
Ezekiel drew back and kissed him. He was sweet like—ice cream—strawberries, sunshine—hell and heaven Claude had never tasted anything sweeter.  
It was over too quick. Ezekiel pulled back, his own breathing quickened. A shy laugh, the drifter scrubbing self-consciously at his face with his arm.  
“We were... no same place, very little time. But still... I was lonely, with no you.”  
And how could Claude resist that? He drew him close, warm bodies pressed together in the soapy water as he sought his lips again and his hands caressed the drifter's gentle skin. When he drew back he held Ezekiel's face and looked into his eyes.  
"Oh Ezekiel, I missed you like a drowning man misses air—but most of all I was so worried—every second that you're not with me—I can't think about anything but you."  
And in answer his love’s hands mirrored his own, resting upon his cheeks, tracing softly with his thumbs.  
“I am here now.”  
Yes, he was. Claude trembled as the drifter settled himself upon him, smooth globes of ass rubbing down against his sex. Ezekiel’s eyes were still affixed to his.  
“Am I still all you can think about?”  
O-Oh f-f-fuckkk. Claude throbbed. And then—  
Then Ezekiel squeaked and covered his face, strawberry-red, his attempt to be suave too much for him.  
Oh what a temptation! He held Ezekiel close and ate him up with kisses. To his sweet flustered face, his soft hair, his beautiful button nose, his slender neck, the curve of his collarbone. Claude paused then, hesitating, and intertwined his fingers with his beloved's.  
"Ezekiel may I… may I touch you? Can I please just… I want to make you feel good," he whined, leaning forward against him.  
Ezekiel rippled. The quickened breath, the flush of his skin—every aspect of it Claude mirrored, his lover’s joy his own, an anticipation that coiled up like golden wire. The drifter shifted forward; Claude could feel his little cock stiff against his torso.  
“Ye...”  
And he trailed off in the middle of it, blinked, set back.  
“No.”  
“N-No?”  
“No.” Savoring it, savoring that power. Oh hell. Claude knew from the look in his eyes that this was only the start of a most exquisite torture.  
Ezekiel pushed away from him, settling back against the far side of the bath, watching Claude’s every unsteady reaction.  
“You can watch.”  
Lofty, all the mimicked arrogance he hadn’t been able to manage up close. His kitten’s hand strayed to his chest, rolling across a nipple, exploring. His other hand eased down smooth stomach below the bubbles, but the rhythm of his arm told the secret.  
“C-Claude... Claude...”  
A whisper that caught and broke with the crescents of his flesh, the suggestion of a whine, erotic and lush. What Claude had almost seen—a scene interrupted—now put on full display for his delight and his damnation.  
Oh what a TEMPTATION! His fingers curled tightly on the edges of the basin, knuckles white, Claude outright wailing in despair but never moving to touch Ezekiel, despite how very much he wanted to.  
“E-Ezekiel you’re killing me,” he groaned, watching and panting like a hungry dog, his own cock painfully stiff between his legs. But despite his need he never once moved to touch it. No, all his attention was fixed on his beloved. And afterwards, all his need would be reserved for him as well.  
A few more moments—minutes—months, it felt, of rapturous heaven and sumptuous hell, until Ezekiel stopped moving. No. Stopped one torture to start another.  
Claude outright hissed in delectable anguish as Ezekiel at last moved to him, settling himself up against his thighs.  
“No.”  
“A-Ah.”  
Claude closed his eyes and trembled, but only briefly. The mercy of not seeing was overruled by the tragedy of not seeing. He looked down as Ezekiel pressed in close, teething at his throat, working down to his shoulder.   
This was unexpected from his kitten. Every careful nip roiled like flame through his skin. The drifter worked down, suckled briefly at a nipple. Fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK it wasn’t nearly enough—it wasn’t—  
Claude’s nails chiseled at the marble. He had played games of denial before, but never like this, restrained only by his own straining will an inch from what he so fiercely WANTED.  
Ezekiel seemed quite pleased with himself in the face of his lover’s misery. He rubbed his face into his chest and then settled fuller against him—Claude choked as their cocks touched—and then his slim hand circled around their cocks and began a tortuously light stroke as his lips pressed to Claude’s.  
It was then harder than ever not to give into the burning urge to hold Ezekiel close and warm in his arms then and there, to stroke and cradle and squeeze close as his body demanded he did. But he managed, somehow, sobbing into that kiss as he trembled beneath his kitten, hips jerking into the softness of his fingers as he let out a broken call of need. When Ezekiel pulled back—he broke, moaning and leaning forward, forehead pressing to the drifter's.  
"F-fuck, E-Ezekiel, I c-can't go on without you, I need you, I need you," he whined piteously, opening tear streaked eyes to stare into Ezekiel's verdant ones.  
And still his kitten was so—calculating! How cruel! Claude could almost believe every awful thing he’d ever heard about his race, if only he didn’t know better. Ezekiel pressed a hand to his chest, pressing him back down against the edge of the tub, and Claude went only in the hopes that adjusting their position meant SOMETHING was about to happen.  
It was. Ezekiel shifted restlessly between his legs. And—went—the wrong way—  
Claude could only gape as his slightly younger and certainly much smaller beloved took up position at HIS entry. Here at least Ezekiel paused, suddenly troubled. He looked up, seeking permission, as fearful of hurting him as Claude had so long been—as Claude still WAS—fearful of doing the same to him.  
Claude felt like he was the punchline of some joke gone terribly awry. Yet he nodded, mystified, accepting the new madness of the world.  
Ezekiel adjusted—he, unsurprisingly, seemed not to have done this before. But in short time he found his mark and eased in, locking his arms about Claude’s torso, gasping in pleasure.  
Ha. Haaa. HAHAHA. The drifter actually had TECHNIQUE, oh the fucking irony, but he was JUST A LITTLE TOO SMALL and every thrust that WOULD have shafted into his core only bounced off the very edge of it, when it made contact at all—  
And yet for the sake of his beloved there was nothing he could do about it. He would give Ezekiel whatever he wanted, no matter how much he had to suffer in return. And suffer he did. Not only was Ezekiel's size—modest. He himself was quite experienced and… well, the knowledge of what could be contrasted sharply with what it was. He had an itch and Ezekiel was only tickling at it. He pressed back against the basin, head tilted back over the edge as he bit his lip and groaned, stretching out, pressing all the closer to Ezekiel to no avail.  
"E-Ezekiel—harder—harder please," he whined, hoping it—and the lovely friction of his cock between their slick bodies, would finally bring him any form of release.  
No, no—it made it WORSE. Ezekiel tried to sate him, slim body arcing against his own, AND IT WASN’T ENOUGH. The meager increase of pressure and friction was only a new level of hell. Never had someone been simultaneously so close and so far from what he wanted; Claude’s truly horrific level of sexual frustration was matched only by the vicious eroticism of seeking his once-shy lover be so voracious. He would have been in less agony if he’d been pulled in two directions by teams of horses. FUCK! FUCK! WHAT HAD HE DONE TO—  
“C-Claude—“  
And the keening cry of Ezekiel’s voice was not what he’d expected. It was a need as sharp and desperate as his own.  
Abruptly the drifter pulled back, separating from him. He writhed back against the far end of the tub and kicked up his legs. The game he had created had proved beyond him.  
“Claude—“  
Claude’s blood hammered in his ears, but he could have heard that next word if it was a whisper under water a thousand miles away.  
“—Yes!”  
He lunged like a starving beast for fresh meat, and yet even here he stopped himself, as their bodies pressed close and Ezekiel's warmth was offered to him, breaking. It wasn't any attempt to tease him back—he was far too needy himself for that. It was instead a worry. one last check that Ezekiel's face was full of love and want, that his body was hard and wanting against his. He cradled the drifter's face in trembling fingers.  
"E-Ezekiel… I love you." And then he moved to press his lips to his even as his hardness slowly eased inside him, forcing himself to be gentle when he was too broken to spend time preparing for a rougher entrance.  
And Ezekiel knit himself around him, arm and leg, crying out into his lips. Every part of him was strawberry summer sweet. Claude could have gorged himself on that taste til the day he died. And between their summer dream kisses, between every delicious roll of their bodies combined, Ezekiel whispered the words back to him.  
Claude, I—  
I—  
I love you,  
Too.  
Claude breathed in all of him and moved with the deep slow strength of the ocean, and Ezekiel keened and came.  
So quickly. Too quickly. Overstimulation on more tender skin. But Claude forced himself to stop, panting, giving his lover that relief. Their brief joining had given HIM some relief. He would... if needed... again crawl off and finish himself, alone, probably crying—  
“C-Claude.”  
His kitten’s fingers cupped his face.  
“M-More. Please?”  
"E-Ezekiel…" Tears of absolute joy leapt to his face as he stared into his beloved's eyes. How kind! How gracious! Truly his kitten was a saint!  
No more hesitating, soon Claude was moving within him again, hips setting a quicker tempo, giving both his beloved and himself that which they both craved the most as his lips sought Ezekiel's once more, the warm water sloshing around with their movements.

When Ezekiel touched heaven again, Claude was beside him. And—well, to say he didn’t want more would have been lying, but to say he wasn’t in a strange way content would have been lying, too.  
Ezekiel was a softly breathing warmth beneath him. Claude rolled himself out of the tub and took the little thing with him. And then—oh, miracle!—the beloved kitten who had every right to be asleep wobbled over to the cabinets and returned with the very same poultices and gauzes Claude had used on his wounds a lifetime before. Only when the blonde had been tended and bandaged did Ezekiel call himself content, one last satisfied murmur before he slipped asleep on the toweled floor.  
Claude simply stared at him in wonder a long while before he carried him off to bed. He slept coiled around him, and a dragon clutching a long lost prize could not have looked more content.

But oh, hell, why did nothing good ever last?!  
Claude and Ezekiel jerked upright to HELLISH SCREAMS, and only THEN did Claude remember, ah, he’d left Ezekiel’s VERY murderous uncle unattended with a very gullible friend!  
“PRINCE—“  
“U-Uncle?!”  
Claude dashed off down the hall—trying unsuccessfully to shake Ezekiel off his hip as he did. Ah, the screams were getting louder, but bizarrely they sounded like... like Asmodeus instead of Prince? Except that was impossible, clearly; his prior kitten hadn’t a malicious bone in his body whereas the drifter was BURSTING with them!  
Claude tried one last time to scoot Ezekiel somewhere safe as they reached the door in question, to no avail; the blonde grimaced and winced and reached gingerly for the door, but it was Ezekiel who zipped under him and pulled it open even as he pushed CLAUDE protectively back.  
Ah; they needn’t have worried.  
Prince was astride Asmodeus, who was shirtless. Strips of sticky paper tufted with black hair were sprinkled across the room. Asmodeus screamed again as Prince ripped another line off his newly shiny smooth chest.  
“Where IS he?! Where IS he?!” Prince sobbed, tears bubbling across his lashes even as his face hardened.  
“T-Tell me right now or next I’ll wax your BA—“  
"P-Prince!" Despite his desire to protect his friend, the fear of the drifter was greater, even tied up as he was. It didn't matter a moment later. At the sound of his name being called the blond saw Claude, but more importantly, he saw Ezekiel. He gasped in excitement and unstraddled the older drifter's lap before going to Ezekiel.  
"Oh you found him! And you—you know where Junior is right? Please please tell me where he is!"

Ezekiel’s face had gone lime sour at the sight of his uncle. Even as Asmodeus started barking his name the younger drifter stayed quiet, face tight, eyes thin.  
Prince continued babbling about Junior. At this Ezekiel’s attention finally left his kin to settle on Prince. Every word was slow and drawn; Claude could hear the agitated clicking of his mind at work, struggling against inexperience and a cascade of thoughts.  
“Junior is, safe, he is, in, street... under street, with water...”  
“The sewers?!”  
“Yes. Uncle, made him go, he did not want to go. Uncle made him, TAKE me, because—because witch magic, do no work, on another witch—“  
Here Ezekiel lost control, puffing up into a bubbling scream. Asmodeus protested, uselessly. Ezekiel shook himself all over and turned to Claude, muttering with heat.  
“I told—I told uncle, GO, go to family—he NO listen—danger, danger for you. I—I am danger to you, sorry, sorry—“  
The anger was mixed with tears now, Ezekiel’s face and hands scrunching.

The terrifying murderous witch was forgotten in favor of his beautiful, mewling Kitten. Claude moved forward immediately, gathering his flustered face in his hands and kissing away his tears as he cooed.  
"Oh no no no no no! Ezekiel, my sweet little Zekeling, it's not your fault—none of this is! I'm glad you came back—so glad! Thank you, thank you for coming back for me!" He whined, drawing the drifter close in a tight hug, rubbing their faces together. A screech from the witch had Claude squeaking and trembling, but not for long. Soon his eyes were back on Ezekiel and he stroked his hair softly.  
"What if…" He fumbled with several ideas and paused at one, eyes widening.  
"What if we ran away together—You and me, Zeke, let's leave everything behind—"  
"Okay but FIRST tell me in which sewer are you hiding Junior!"

And Ezekiel looked up at him with eyes as round as any true kitten’s.  
Only a moment. It would be a worse selfishness than coming back, taking Claude away from the comfortable world he had built for himself. It would be much better if his uncle would GO AWAY.  
For all of them. Ezekiel had not lied; the future had shown him here, and his family there. This was the surest step forward.  
“I will make my uncle go.”  
The drifter turned to Prince.  
“And bring Junior to you. But, first, I need help. You will help I? Trust?”


	10. Chapter 10

Claude did trust him. But still he trembled with doubt as they moved.

A carriage ride in the dark. A still blindfolded and spitting Asmodeus. Ezekiel speaking to him in soft tones and foreign tongue until they stopped before a long unused entrance to the underground.  
Asmodeus had gone silent, now. Feet loose, but hands still tied, he let his nephew lead him down into the shadows.  
Claude slumped into his knees, shaking worse. Ezekiel had told him if he heard any voice other than his own coming back up the tunnel to flee immediately. The clock on his wrist ticked round. His breath rose in cold steam against the chill of the hour.  
“Claude.”  
Ezekiel’s voice. Claude straightened. And there he was, Junior with him, emerging from the black.  
The one he loved smiled.  
"Zeke—"  
"JUNIOR!" Prince's voice, louder than Claude's as he barreled past him and into the buff drifter's arms, the giant of a man easily catching him and drawing him close. Prince moved to kiss him passionately, caught a whiff of him and then thought it better, instead continued bawling in his arms.  
"J-Junior! I promise I did my best to make that awful, awful man tell me where you were!—But none of that matters, because now we can go home and you can take a long shower!"  
And Junior stared at him. And stared and stared until Prince became exceedingly worried.  
“Junior are you ok? Did you get some garbage stuck in your throat?”  
“No.” Low. Rumbled. And then the giant burst into tears.  
“I just—I just missed you, Prince!”  
The little thing squeaked as he was snatched off the ground into thick arms, starting to cry himself as Junior wailed.  
Claude and Ezekiel, in contrast, were silent. The drifter rested his head on his chest, and the man held him close.  
No words were needed. They had each other.

But ah, Claude was a businessman, and not even true love could throw his mind off forever! It was just the next morning, awakening in each other’s arms, that Claude started to nervously laugh.  
“Ahaha so, your uncle, pretty angry at me, huh? So I was thinking—“

What he was thinking turned out to be most spectacular.

Ezekiel had gone along willingly when Claude loaded several cases and all of the drifter’s books into a carriage. And Junior and Prince, although it could be argued they had loaded themselves; Claude sighed heavily but offered no further resistance.  
And then a journey of several hours, the filth and filling of the city fading out behind a wall of its own soot. Ezekiel watched with increasing interest as fractured forests gave way to grander, as they at last gave way to mountains, as those at last gave way to—  
Both Ezekiel and Junior cried out in honest wonder at the sight of the ocean, winking sapphire beneath brilliant sun.

Claude’s vacation home was hardly modest; it lacked perhaps a third of the size of his standard quarters, but it still could have wedged in five families with room to spare. A haven by the sea away from the horrors of the city—AND away from any murderous relatives of Ezekiel’s who might want to violently murder him!

It was a new start. They were happy to accept it.

Could time scrub off scars? Perhaps. The days they spent there—  
Waves on their skin, warm sand beneath their feet. Markets and restaurants glittering in the night, too far removed from war and hate to glance more than once at the red eyes. Claude introduced Ezekiel to theatre, both the standard stage productions and the radical new ones called film. His kitten loved both and Claude loved how he clung to him during the more frightful bits.  
Unfortunately luxury did require a touch of work. Claude introduced Ezekiel, guardedly, to his business partners, the way they established the laws of fashion and drove the world wild for them. Ezekiel proved a competent model, and his shyness only increased the appeal. Everyone who wasn’t mired in the cities found the taboo exoticism of a drifter in signature clothes an irresistible appeal, and sales rocketed off the market scoreboards.  
But it was not all opulence and dazzlery. Claude knew how much his gentle lover preferred the quieter hours, and he made sure there were many of them. Trips to gardens, to libraries... time spent happily nestled together. Ezekiel attacked his reading with fresh hunger, and in marvelously short order his speech was a match for any native’s, aside from the occasional lack of a known word.

The only, only mark upon the joy of their lives was Ezekiel’s continued stubborn resistance to his drugs. Claude had found another pharmacist who knew Raphael’s prescription and replicated it, but actually getting Ezekiel to take it—  
He resorted to cheats and arguments and cheats again when arguments failed, but seemed to only dose him one day out of three. Ezekiel suffered seizures less often than before, but still did; he just hid them better. Claude frumped and schemed increasingly elaborate ways to overthrow him.  
But, overall, life was good. More than good. It was paradise.

But serpents did invade paradise, every now and then.

Claude woke up to Ezekiel screaming in a nightmare—an occurrence that had lessened in their time free of the city, but never fully abated. The drifter was awake before he touched him, shivering.  
“Just a bad dream. Just a bad—I’m ok, Claude. I’m ok. Go back to sleep.”

Familiarity had bred complacency. After a few more nuzzles Claude drifted back into slumber.  
Ezekiel did not.  
Just a dream, just a dream. An empty peal inside his head. His fingers curled into the blankets.  
For the first time in weeks, Claude’s arms did not feel safe.

Claude awoke again soon after—not to the sun, but to Ezekiel’s lips around his cock.  
Oh was he dreaming? Had he died in his sleep and gone to heaven?! Both options were equally possible. Then again, he had been living heaven on earth for the past few weeks.  
"E-Ezekiel..." He croaked his lover's name, immediately hard in his mouth with want of him. What a sight, his beautiful kitten lapping and mouthing at his sex, taking him all in and suckling—NGH!  
"E-Ezekiel!" He cried out again, more urgently. Oh he loved him so so much— would this be a bad moment to ask for his hand in marriage? His hips moved to the rhythm of his beloved's suckles, trembling fingers tangling in his hair, stroking him affectionately in approval of his caresses.  
It was not the first time they had played such sweet games in paradise—ahahaha no, love making had made up QUITE the sizable portion of their itinerary—but it was the first time he’d been so sumptuously awoken. And with his cute sweet lover, even the smallest new proposal felt like a grand one, considering his kitten’s inexperience.  
And he was going FULL STEAM AHEAD right now, great goodness!  
“E-Ezekiel—“  
His beloved’s name and an assortment of fevered cries were all he could manage as he worked him. The drifter was utilizing moves Claude hadn’t even pondered showing him yet; the erotic-keen scrape of teeth over hyper sensitive skin, hands kneading Claude’s pouches in a firm tempo, his nimble mouth finding one new microcosm of wonder after another.  
“E-Ezekiel,” Claude wheezed, more helpless than ever; his hands knitted into the bedding. Ezekiel did some devastating combo of a tongue and a suck and with a keen Claude came, contorting sharply on the mattress.  
He recovered as quickly as he could, entirely so he could look at Ezekiel as quickly as he could. The drifter had been awaiting him. Eyes fixed to his own, the smaller male opened his mouth and extended a tongue, showing he’d swallowed.

If Claude had been a weaker man he would have reached climax again then and there. As it was, he was close, cock oozing just so close to Ezekiel's precious open mouth.  
He lunged for him like starving animal, pulling him close, face cupping his beautiful face as he kissed him and ate him all up. Trembling fingers explored the body he had come to know so well like it was new uncharted territory. Gliding over soft skin, teasing at a nipple, moving ever lower and through it all whispering his beloved's name like a prayer. Fingers found Ezekiel's warmth and slipped in, slowly, carefully, one after the other, the drifter dancing upon his touch and calling out his name as well.  
But there was only so much teasing he himself could do when he had been driven so mercilessly to the edge. Finally Claude's fingers retreated and he looked up upon Ezekiel's heated face.  
"E-Ezekiel, please, please, I need you." Cock warm and smeared in white teased at his lover's entrance but did not go in. The drifter had been left atop him even in his desperation for his warmth. Always free and in control of what could happen next.

And Ezekiel was... silent.

That was only slightly less surprising than a sudden wake up blow job and a great deal more concerning. A mouthed yes, the drifter’s body on his... that had become the customary, one Claude always made sure to ask for, and its absence was more alarming to his head than his cock. Ezekiel’s clear eyes seemed shrouded, and when Claude met them his younger paramour looked away.  
“Ezekiel—“  
His lover’s switch into approval was both sudden and—  
Claude outright gurgled in joy. FORCEFUL. Their sexual romps hadn’t exactly been light and airy all these weeks, but this was something else, one firm bounce upon his sex after another. Claude continued to make stupid sounds as Ezekiel fell on him like a hound on a rabbit—nails caught on his skin, raked across his face, hooked up into his hair—Ezekiel’s mouth was greedy, a jackal’s—honestly the clawing was a bit MORE rough than Claude would have preferred, but my goodness, he wasn’t about to ask for it to stop!  
And neither, it seemed, was Ezekiel.  
“Harder,” he hissed, shoving his face against Claude’s throat. Claude had a pretty good idea of what his lover’s ass could and couldn’t handle, and harder was definitely not on the menu.  
“Oh, Ezekiel—I don’t—“  
“Harder!”  
A mild obligatory increase in his thrusts and Ezekiel snarled; Claude could FEEL teeth against his neck.  
“I said HARDER!”  
“Kitten—“  
Incisors plunged into skin and Claude shrilled.   
Ezekiel’s reaction was immediate—withdrawing from Claude’s neck, his hips, face going hot than pale with shame.  
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, C-Claude—“  
For a moment Claude was still, panting and staring with confusion at his kitten.  
"E-Ezekiel…" But rather than recoil he reached out for him once more. Hands cradling his face again, tender rather than hungrily, thumbs stroking tears clean from soft cheeks.  
"K-kitten what's wrong?" He asked, concern in his voice as he gazed into his beloved's eyes.  
Ezekiel’s pupils went pinpoint, yet Claude didn’t have time to fear that he had hurt him. The drifter’s cry was for HIM, the little thing burrowing into his hold, trembling so bad that the bed trembled with him.  
And Claude held him through it all. Until the shaking subsided in his steady arms, until Ezekiel was truly assured that his bite hadn’t done great arm. In relief and exhaustion his kitten at last lay still, head pressed to an unharmed part of his love’s neck.  
“I dreamed about them.”  
No question of who THEM was. It took a few more moments before Ezekiel’s hitched breathing settled.  
“I wanted... I just wanted to forget, as soon as possible... but in my mind I was... there. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  
"Oh Ezekiel." He drew the drifter close, encasing the both of them in warm sheets, shielding him for a moment from the world. He nuzzled at his soft hair and kissed his forehead when he drifter whined in answer.  
"I'm so sorry my love. I hope one day I'll keep them away from your dreams but… I promise you here they won't find you. I won't let them, I won't let anyone hurt you ever again," he murmured softly, reaching out to stroke Ezekiel's hair from his face.  
“I know.”  
Ezekiel’s eyes closed, and he pushed into that contact, relishing. The most beautiful cat the world had ever known.  
“And I know one day I’ll only dream of you. Because you... have made my every waking moment a dream.”  
Oh dear. Claude could feel himself blushing. Ezekiel seemed to make him an easily startled amateur every time he tried.  
Ezekiel smiled. He pressed into Claude’s hold—atop him—fingers interlocking with Claude’s own. Their noses bumped softy together.  
“I love you.”  
Claude couldn't help himself. He moved forward and kissed Ezekiel on the lips once more, gently and lovingly, and smiled at him when he pulled back.  
"I love you too, Ezekiel." And his own heart felt warm and light as he said the words and kissed Ezekiel again. But as their bodies rubbed together and heated up once more he forced himself to pause, stroking Ezekiel's cheeks.  
"W-we can just have breakfast, if you prefer. I can take a cold shower and make you some delicious pancakes. Would that make you feel better, Kitten?"  
Ezekiel shook his head. Shook all of himself, chasing out the black dream.   
“No. They took enough moments from me.”  
The drifter’s fingers lifted to his face, tracing a handsome jaw.  
“I won’t let them take this one.”  
“E-Ezekiel.”  
“But I do really love your pancakes, so you should still make them later.”  
A wink, a lightness, Claude’s heart soaring. All the more when Ezekiel pressed softly down atop him, joining, rubbing his head against his own in a much gentler, truer sign of affection.  
Claude couldn’t help but move against him as well in answer, whining piteously as he rubbed his face affectionately against his lover and gripped his hips and set up a slow and firm tempo.  
“A-Anything, anything you want always and forever.”  
And Ezekiel caught his face in his hands, laughed, their foreheads together.  
“You,” he breathed, as they became one living thing from two.  
“Just you.”

AND pancakes. Those were requested after their recovery, and Claude was happy to oblige. Less happy was the eternal struggle of the medicine. Claude looked at it, sighed, didn’t bother going through the routine this time, starting to return it to its drawer.  
A slender hand stopped him.  
“Claude.”  
“Ezekiel?”  
And then his love took the container from him, dropped a burst of powder in his drink. A moment of thinking, brows knitting together, and then he tossed the whole thing down his throat.  
He coughed as he set it down, wiping his lips, blushing as Claude gaped.  
“What do you want to do today?”

Modeling, ice cream, the zoo—in roughly that order. It turned out Ezekiel was VERY fond of ice cream, strawberry in particular, and in its sweet indulgence he had regained a far more proper weight. When Claude had found him, starved and broken in the cold, he had guessed at four years of difference between them. Now it seemed properly closer to two, and his darling was all the more beautiful for it. His kitten had—  
Hmm, no. Perhaps you could say his battered little cygnet had become a swan.  
And so the weeks went on, in a paradise that seemed hard to believe. The wonders they saw—the delights they partook—the constant company of the one he loved—  
Ezekiel felt as if he saw a mirage, and was afraid to touch any of it, lest it break. But Claude led him on, and convinced him it was real, and Ezekiel trusted him with all his heart.  
There were too many joys in that time to name them all. A favorite? Claude, and Junior and Prince too, laughing on the beach—the circus? The acrobats, the fire? Or perhaps the—  
Ah! The day Claude had taught him to dance.

It had been a theatre troupe that had started it all. The grace and beauty of their movements had reminded Ezekiel most immediately of Claude, which begged the question;  
“Do you dance?”  
“Of course, Kitten! Want me to teach you?”  
Well, yes, but now that he was here in an empty dance hall rigid as a stick Ezekiel felt decidedly less sure.  
A hand offered and stiffly taken, another wrapping around his waist and pulling him close. They were so close. And yes, in bed they had been closer but still for some reason Claude's playful smile sent a shiver down his spine that had his face heating up. Nimble fingers traced the way up his spine and then down again. Ezekiel squeaked and arched.  
"Relax, kitten. It's very easy, I'll lead the way alright?" Soft music in the background. A slow serenade that would be easy to follow. One that called for them to remain very close.  
"Ready?" Ezekiel wasn't ready but Claude moved nonetheless, stepping back, pulling Ezekiel with him, counting all the steps. One two three, one two three, one two three— A sudden dip and the only thing keeping him from falling against the floor were Claude's arms as he leaned in and…kissed him on the cheek before pulling him upwards again and twirling him back in position.  
"Keeping up the pace so far, Kitten?"

Ezekiel blinked. And then squealed and went cherry red, hiding his face in his hands.  
He could FEEL Claude grinning. The drifter pushed his hands back into place, trying to shake out the blush and failing, wide-eyed and helpless.  
“Y-Yes?”  
“Very good!”  
And then off they went again, his chirping lover stumbling and tripping his way through every inch of the routine.  
Oh? Oh? It seemed his prodigious beloved was much less adept at dancing then at learning piano or languages. This was among the slowest songs in his repertoire and still his darling flailed about like a tipsy cat.  
Ah, perhaps the swan metaphor had been misplaced. His lover was definitely still a precious kitten!  
After close to an hour of practice Ezekiel wheezed, his wobbling legs slumping him into Claude and refusing to do anything else. His beloved held him willingly, bemused.  
“This... this is...”  
A few panted breaths before Ezekiel found enough oxygen.  
“This is... a body activity. I am... a brain activity.”  
Claude hummed happily as he held his kitten close.  
"Oh, I don't know about that. I know of SEVERAL body activities you are great at~" The man teased, laughing softly as Ezekiel squeaked and went red, hiding his face in his chest. Another short moment of teasing before Claude picked his lover properly. Heavier now, but still light enough to be held like this. He leaned close, their faces inches apart.  
"Want to try one, love?~"  
Ezekiel now had the majority of his body’s blood focused in his face. If Claude hadn’t been holding him he might have worried about him dropping senseless to the floor.  
“C-C-Claude!”  
“Kitten~”  
Ezekiel squeaked again and covered Claude’s face desperately with his hands, trying to recover.  
“L-L-Let’s take a break first—m-maybe get some ice cream—“  
“Maybe all the ice cream is why you can’t dance...”  
“C-CLAUDE!”  
The man laughed at his stutter and then—  
Came alive. Ezekiel did not know enough words in this new tongue to paint it. Claude was—afire, fluid, every step rapid strikes of lightning. He spirited Ezekiel along through a routine magnitudes swifter than their own, a dazzlement, every strut and twist and drop—  
It was like watching light on water. Airy and brilliant. Impossible for the eye to follow. When Claude drew the routine to a close, breath only slightly labored, Ezekiel was wide eyed as a kitten.  
“That was... you were beautiful, Claude.”  
“Aw, thanks kitten! Your sack potato technique was equally stunning~”  
Another shrill, Ezekiel attempting to rub the grin off Claude’s face, and then with a laugh and a dash the man swept him off to find ice cream.

The sun was starting to set as they walked the city, hands intertwined, cold sweet to their lips. Another full day. The sun set later now then it had when Ezekiel had first met him, and brighter. A world and two seasons away from where they’d started. Who would have thought the visions he’d seen were no nightmare, but a dream?  
Ezekiel sighed and pressed into Claude’s side, his love smiling down at him.  
The drifter had no regrets. His uncle and brother were safe. His father was more likely to be found without him in the mix endangering them. This was where he was meant to be.  
But for how long?  
Ezekiel’s eyes slid to Claude’s face. The sun caught on gold ripples of hair and set them blazing. It ran rays in a smoking silhouette down a strong jaw and sculpted nose and welcoming lips.  
But it was his eyes that Ezekiel wanted. Kind. Kind as they had always been, from the day he’d met, when everything he brought to him was foreign and threatening.  
Ezekiel had seen one vision beyond this. Himself and his people in a world where they were safe.  
Would Claude be there? Was it worth being there, if he wasn’t?  
Ezekiel looked away. And that was when he realized where they were.

Claude stopped as his dear one went stock still and stiffened. They were on a street like any other, quieter now but still bustling, the sun catching on cobblestones and passerby scurrying to end their day.  
It was a street Ezekiel had seen before. A nightmare, he had told himself. Now he knew.  
“Claude—“  
There was so much to say. Too much. Two he managed.  
“I love you. I’m sorry.”  
An arm swept out of the carriage that passed before them. Claude blinked once as Ezekiel was lifted up and away, as a familiar man smiled at him, as the one and only thing he truly loved was swallowed up by a dark hearse rapidly speeding away from him.

He was frozen for a second, as if trying to understand what had happened, as if the happiness that had for so long enveloped them refused to let the darkness in. But without Ezekiel by his side, his happiness could not put up a fight. His eyes widened.  
"W-what—No, no! Ezekiel—Ezekiel! Help! Help! Someone help me!—Thief! Someone stop him!" He yelled, running as fast as he could behind the carriage. But no matter how fast he ran the carriage kept getting farther and farther away, his legs aching. He looked around and—there was a horse, tied up to a post before a building. Without thinking he went for it, hopping up and Whipping the reins as he kicked to have the beast cry out and run, ignoring the angry yells of the horses' owner behind him. The carriage had been far away, but it was heavier and bigger and slower and before long Claude had managed to reach it, kicking and slamming his fists at the doors.  
"Let him go! LET. HIM. GO!"  
And—  
The door kicked open and into him. Claude almost lost his grip on the horse—DID lose his grip, tumbling towards the cobbles—  
A strong hand grabbed him and wrenched him into the dark cabin, door slamming shut.  
And there was Ezekiel—his Ezekiel—wide-eyed and scared and Claude tried to lunge for him—  
Lucian smashed him into the side of the carriage and held him there, purring.  
“If you wanted to join, you could’ve just asked.”  
“No—“  
The carriage jerked to a stop, and someone rapped sharply at the door. Lucian rolled his eyes before kicking it open.  
A policeman stood there, brows raised, looking them over.  
“Someone reported a theft?”  
“Yes—yes!” Claude cried out, desperate, wriggling forward.  
“These—monsters—stole my—“  
Lover? Uhm—  
“They stole HIM!”  
Claude turned back to Ezekiel, tried to dart for him, Lucian’s hands again holding him off.  
“Oh, there was a theft, but we are the sufferers, not the offenders.”  
A fourth voice. A FEMALE voice. Claude’s hair prickled up as he turned.  
A woman with hair blazed like hellfire, grinning like a cat.  
“This man stole a slave from us several months ago. We’re very forgiving, so we just wanted the return of what was ours, nothing more. I trust you’ll find this all in order.”  
A slim roll of paper withdrawn from her purse, offered to the policeman. A certificate of sale. The man browsed it before looking up at Claude.  
“Everything seems to be in order. It seems you might have to come with me, unless you have a good explanation?”  
Claude outright whimpered. No, no, he couldn't let them take him.  
"P-please, please, they're going to h-hurt him."   
Laughter from the woman behind him. He heard her stand up and move towards the door.  
"That's alright, officer. Like I said, we have no intention to press charges.. I think we'll just solve this privately instead. Thank you for your service~" She purred, closing and locking the door. Their carriage started again as she sat down, eyes on him.  
"Now now, Ezekiel dear, come to mistress~"  
"I'll pay you." He looked up at—the man, still holding him down.  
"Money, houses—E-everything I own, it's yours, as long as you let us go, p-please, please."  
The woman did not seem troubled by his proposal to her henchman, merely grinned.  
"That's a very generous offer. I'm sure you'll offer the same a week from now, or a month. Hmm, maybe a year, as long as you can keep our precious Ezekiel after we are done with him, yes? So, having said that, what's in it for me?~"   
Claude couldn't even bring himself to look at her—at any of them. All he knew was he couldn't let them have him.  
"I… I-I'll do a-anything just... p-please, don't hurt him."  
A laugh from the bastard of a man holding him.  
“I’m almost tempted! But you know, blondie, maybe you’re not as good as I thought. You’ve done a TERRIBLE job training this thing—he pissed himself and ruined a fine pair of panties the second we brought him in! If you can’t even housebreak him how can I expect you to properly suck our dicks, eh?”  
“Claude.”  
And that voice and only that voice raised Claude’s head.  
Ezekiel—stiff, a corpse, trying to reach him. The woman plucked him up and away. Ezekiel closed his eyes and said only two words more.  
“Run.”  
And, in his own tongue,  
“Uncle.”  
The woman laughed softly.  
“Don’t be like that, Lucian. If he wants to play with us so badly then we should let him. After all, we’re still missing the bigger piece of our set, maybe he could replace him?” She purred, nudging a foot between his legs. Claude instinctively recoiled and covered his mouth with both hands in a feeble attempt to keep himself from barfing on the spot.  
“Oh? Not fond of that? It’s alright. I’d be quite happy to watch Lucian play with you for now. We can figure out further logistics later,” she said, her grin widening as she spoke as she caressed Ezekiel’s hair gently.  
“GO,” Ezekiel echoed, soft, not moving from where he lay.  
Calloused hands seized Claude and yanked him on to a broad lap, a heavy chuckle filling his ear.  
“Nah, m’lady’s right, I suppose you should stay. After all...”  
A hand hooked around his chin, jerking it up, facing him towards Ezekiel.  
“We had so much fun the LAST time we tangoed, didn’t we? Doesn’t matter what you can do with his ass, it’s about what I can do to yours, right? Oh, we fucked for so LONG last time...”  
Ezekiel DID look up at that. In hate.  
For Lucian and Lucian alone.  
The man heaved a sigh.  
“That’s one loyal kitty cat you got there, Claude. Aw. Oh well—this is fun enough anyway!”  
Thick fingers plunged beneath his hemline, fumbling with his cock.  
Claude's body went stiff as a board in Lucian's hold. But not like their time before. His slim body was tense and jabbed at him instead of melting and molding perfectly against his own. The blond gripped at the hand in his pants trying uselessly to pull it away. Oh no, no, no, it didn't matter, nothing he did matter, there was nothing he could do or give them to save Ezekiel's skin. A few minutes at most was all he could buy them, and when they were done with him then they would move to hurt him—And that was what hurt the most, knowing that there was no outcome in which Ezekiel wasn't hurt. Tears streamed down his face  
"I-I'm sorry."   
A sharp jab of his elbow against his captor's ribs, a yelp and a wince at the unexpected struggle and he put his all into tearing out of that iron grip and towards the door, rolling out of the moving carriage and miraculously managing not to snap his neck as he did so. He gathered himself as fast as he could, looking up. The carriage kept on, no indication that it would stop or turn to pursue him. A shaky breath, struggling to his feet, and then Claude was running, running, running towards his home, where Prince and Junior were hopefully waiting—and they were, not waiting, but certainly there. Prince shrilled as the kitchen door slammed open and Claude burst in, clutching at the giant, caring not for the state of things as he sobbed and shook him.  
"T-They took him—E-Ezekiel, Ezekiel—His uncle, please, the others, we have to find him, we have to get him back!"  
Junior reared upward in alarm. Claude slammed his face into his chest and SCREAMED, the tears rivering down his face. The Drifter took him by the shoulders and moved him back enough to look at him.  
“Who took Ezekiel?”  
“Monsters, monsters—the b-bastards who had him before! The ones who... who...”  
Ezekiel alone in a filthy alley. Ezekiel frightened of the smallest touch. Ezekiel waking screaming because in even his dreams they hunted him.  
Claude sunk to his knees, fingers locked feebly to Junior’s clothing.  
“The ones who hurt him...”  
“How many?”  
“T-Two, a man and a—woman.”  
Junior blinked.  
“Two?”  
“Yes—y-yes—and we have to get Ezekiel back, we have to find—“  
“I do not know where Ezekiel’s uncle is. But we know where Ezekiel is! You have many friends in this city, Claude, yes? There are only two of them. We can stop them! We will save the Mala!”  
Junior’s conviction suddenly turned to wide-eyed recognition.  
“Unless—the Mala says his uncle is the only way? Did he see it?”  
Claude let out a cry of anguish and shook all the more, sliding fully onto the floor now, forehead pressed against the ground as he clutched at his own head.  
"I-I don't know—he just t-told me to r-run, a-and uncle, he said to find his uncle—but you don't know! How are we ever going to find him?!"   
Claude's mind began racing over every other possibility. The fact that his kidnappers were two meant nothing. Raphael had been just one and he had found much help easily with a few coins. What could someone who rivaled his family's own fortune could do? Get her own personal army? He, on the other hand… What did he have? His friends? Ha! The only real friend he'd ever had had been—He winced at the thought, eyes closing. That bridge had gone down in a horrifying blaze long ago. And so, then what was left. Slowly but steadily his shaking subsided, and he managed to push himself up to his feet, eerily calm as he looked down in silence at his hands for a moment.  
"….A gun…" He murmured absently, looking up and away and making his way to the door.  
Junior and Prince watched in dismal silence. Whatever words they had could not reach him.  
But reality could. Claude returned to them with an all too small pistol and a new horror. FUCK! How could he FIND her? He had no family name to go by and this town could was clotted with the wealthy. Ezekiel could be entombed in any of a hundred mansions—  
The police wouldn’t help.  
Bought men wouldn’t help. That woman could likely outbid him on the spot.  
Junior and Prince knew nothing.  
Raphael was lost to him.  
He had... nothing... no one...

Claude’s hands were shaking so badly that it was a miracle the gun hadn’t already clattered to the floor.  
No one—  
NO ONE—  
Friends.  
He’s so cute, Claude! Precious! Where did you—

Claude was out the door without a word, Junior and Prince helping before bursting out after him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please post a comment if you enjoyed! New chapters every Wednesday(ish).


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